


HAUNTED

by TheAuthorAgain



Series: LOVED [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorAgain/pseuds/TheAuthorAgain
Summary: Steve and Bucky can finally stop running. But what horrors are going to take the place of their flight?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: LOVED [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048369
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	1. The Shield

**Author's Note:**

> If you did not read the tags, this story contains strong language, suicidal thoughts and actions, and self harm. These things are not included with the intent of upsetting anyone, they are used tastefully to further the plot in a more complex way. Please reach out if you have a specific trigger that you want me to make sure is not in this story, something that I wouldn't know to include a warning for. Stay safe and enjoy HAUNTED!

Bucky's eyes are boring into Tony's. I want him to look at me, I want him to know that I still love him, but his gaze is locked on someone else.

"What?" Tony rasps, "You...you..."

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispers, and I see tears glistening in his eyes. Oh God, darling, look at me, please. Baby, please, it's okay. You're okay. We're okay.

Tony's face flickers through disbelief, anguish, and hatred before it settles on pure, unadulterated rage. "Tony, please, he didn't have control over-"

"Shut it, Rogers," he growls, "You've said enough."

Tears are openly running down Bucky's face now, and he still isn't looking at me. "I know you're angry, Stark, but please don't hurt Steve. Please. He didn't know, he didn't-" He's cut off by Tony launching towards him. I hear a cut off yelp as Bucky is hit by an enraged Iron Man, and tossed across the room. I grab my shield and barrel after them, keeping my eyes on Bucky's crumpled form to make sure he gets up.

"Tony, stop!" I yell, grabbing the leg of his suit that's trying to fly back towards Bucky, "It wasn't him!" I'm kicked hard, and land flat on my back. A noise escapes me as all the wind is knocked out of my lungs, and I ignore the pain in my shoulders as I scramble back up and towards the two men ahead of me.

They're throwing punches, and I see Bucky trying to move the fight closer to the exit. I run and jump on Tony's back, trying to make him stop. He takes a break from pummeling Bucky to engage the repulsors on his legs, slamming me into a wall. I groan and let go of him on instinct, but reach for his receding figure once I regain my wits. He's too far away, though, and I fall face first to the floor instead, catching my body with one arm.

As stand up, I see Bucky land a solid hit to Tony's helmet. The Stark staggers back from the force of the punch, and Bucky uses his disorientation to kick him hard in the chest. I run over, just as Tony grabs Bucky and flies both of them out of the building and into the cold Siberian air. "Stop that," I mutter to myself, racing after them.

Tony has Bucky pinned against a wall, feet dangling. "I remember all of them," I hear Bucky say, as I reach them and smash my shield into Tony's back. He drops Bucky to blast a repulsor at my chest. I drop instantly when the unexpected blast hits me, the pain overwhelming. My vision is blurry and I gasp as the burning agony festers in my abdomen.

I stand up again, shaky, and before I can do anything, I see Tony blast off Bucky's arm. I hear him scream, and remember that Bucky can feel everything that happens to his metal arm. Horror, then rage fills me at the sound of my lover's agony. I want to attack Tony, but have to lift up my shield defensively as he sends another repulsor blast my way. Sparks fly where our weapons meet, and I run at Stark once the blast has puttered out.

I see Bucky lying on the ground. The thought that he might be dead makes my vision tunnel into Tony, and I race towards him at an alarming speed. He stumbles back as I hit him again and again, trying and failing to block my blows. The pain in my chest and back is agony, but it's nothing compared to the horrific reality that Tony might've just killed Bucky. The fear and anger stemming from that thought overpowers any physical pain.

I knock back Tony enough to earn a break, and use the time that he's down to bend over Bucky. I see his eyelashes flutter and his chest moving, and feel relief flood my veins. He lifts his one remaining hand to touch my cheek. I lean into the feeling, but he pushes my head towards Tony, who's getting up and ready to fight me again.

I reach to pick up my shield, but a staggering blow to my face knocks me back. I gasp and try to feel my way to the shield, since my vision has become to unreliable to find my best weapon. I finally find it just as Tony is about to hit me again, and roll out of the way of his iron fist. It hits the ground instead of my face, and I try to make my vision stop spinning so much so that I can stand and keep protecting Bucky.

The sight of my lover broken and beaten on the ground is enough to restrengthen me, and I run at Tony. I knock him to the ground, and pin him down before he can get up. I lift my shield over my head in a guttural rage and start smashing it down into his arc reactor, the one true weak spot that Tony Stark has. I see half of his scared face through his broken helmet but keep attacking anyways, see that little like sputter out as I destroy it.

I let out a breath, and as the anger seeps out of me pain takes its place. Though all I want to do is lie down and take a long, long nap, I force myself to get off of Tony. I stay on my hands and knees for a moment, psyching myself up to stand. A groan escapes me as I do so, and I pick up my shield wearily as I stagger my way over to Bucky.

I bend down and try to lift him, both of our battered bodies trying desperately to escape this cold battleground together. He slings an arm over my shoulder, and I stay still until he's secure enough against me that he won't fall over.

"My father made that shield," I hear Tony croak, "You don't deserve it!"

I take a look at the bloody, beautiful man at my side, and drop the shield without a second thought. The dull clang as it hits the ground silences Tony. I don't spare a glance for him as Bucky and I stagger away.


	2. The Princess

We're so close to the jet when I hear a throat clearing behind me. "Fuck off," I say without turning around, too delirious to wonder how the Iron Man made his way off the ground and outside.

"I am not Tony Stark," a pleasant voice says, and I turn to face the unfamiliar sound.

The Black Panther stands before us, wearing his full costume but not looking malicious in any way. "T'chaka?" I say incredulously, shocked by the appearance of Wakanda's king, "What are you doing here?"

The Black Panther looks down. "I am T'challa, T'chaka's son. I took over the throne and Black Panther when my father died a few days ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Bucky croaks out, barely conscious but kind as ever.

"That is odd coming from you," T'challa says, taking off the mask of his suit to reveal a bitter expression, "Seeing as I believed you to be the one who killed him. I know now that you are no longer the Winter Soldier, and I would like to extend my apologies for my actions towards you."

Bucky smiles weakly. "You have no need to apologize, sir. Although if he died a few days ago, I definitely didn't kill him. I was in a safe house with Steve." His head nods down, and I hold him closer as he fades out of consciousness for a moment. He jerks back to the living world, blearily looking at the king in front of him.

"Come with me to Wakanda. We have some of the most advanced technologies in the world, and I would like to offer it to you. I can even have my sister make you a new arm, Sergeant Barnes."

We're too battered to reject his offer.

\---------------------

I wake up in a hospital bed. The flight to Wakanda was shorter than expected on T'challa's jet, as we left ours in Siberia. Once seeing that Bucky was receiving the medical attention he needed after arriving in Wakanda, I let myself drift asleep.

I feel completely normal. This is concerning, considering how injured I was. I lift up the soft sheets of my bed to look at my bare chest, which has no signs of the damage it underwent. No scars, no burns, no nothing. I touch my head, and the other areas of my body I remember Tony hitting, and feel nothing out of the ordinary.

"You're awake, Captain, good," I hear a voice say, and look to the doorway of my room to see a short woman with elaborately braided hair smiling at me. "I take it you didn't believe my brother when he said that we have advanced medical technologies?"

She comes and sits in a chair by my bed as I begin to talk. "I believed him, I just didn't think that this level of healing was possible. Wait, if T'challa is your brother, then you're..." I close my eyes, trying to recall the name of the Wakandan princess I read about when researching world leaders.

"Shuri," she says with a smile, "Glad to see that you've heard of me. Few care to learn about anyone other than my father and brother." Her perpetual smile fades at the thought of her father, and I frown along in sympathy.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Your Highness."

She straightens and forces a smile back onto her face. "That's Shuri to you, Captain. I'm sure you're wondering about Sergeant Barnes?" Though I notice the abrupt change of subject, I'm too curious about Bucky to pursue our previous conversation.

"Yes, how is he? Is he as healed as me, did he get a new arm-"

"Easy, Captain!" she laughs, "He is perfectly fine. You may come and see him, if you like. I've made him an offer that I believe he needs to discuss with you."

"An offer? What-?"

"There are clothes on this table, I will wait outside while you dress."

I do as she says, putting on loose fitting garments and stepping into the hallway once they're fitted onto my frame. Shuri looks me up and down approvingly, then sets off down the wide hallway without hesitation or a warning. I speed walk to catch up to her, and marvel at the stunning architecture of the palace.

The only real reason I know what I do about Wakanda is that the vibranium of my shield came from the developing country. Although I've clearly been misinformed about the wealth of this nation due to the opulent palace leads me through, enormous windows showing views of a sophisticated city.

When we finally reach Bucky's room, I can't help but beam at the sight of him. I race up and throw my arms around his uninjured form, and feel his one remaining arm on my back. I pull back to look at him, cupping a cheek that's cracked into his signature grin.

"How you feelin', baby?" I ask with a smile, gently running my thumb across the skin of his cheek.

"Good," he responds, "The princess fixed me up."

"I told you, it's Shuri!" she calls from the doorway, and Bucky smirks mischeviously in response.

I'm delighted by the sight of my lover happy and healthy, and I press a kiss to his temple. Suddenly, I remember what Shuri said earlier. "What was that offer you needed to talk to me about, Buck?"

Shuri leaves the room at that, and Bucky's grin fades as he looks at me seriously. "I won't do it if you don't want me to," he starts, "But I can't lie, I want to do it."

"Do what?"

He sighs, and I take his hand in both of mine as he starts talking. "The princess thinks she can the trigger words out of my head, forever. She'd have to put my in cryofreeze to do it, and I'd have to stay here, but I would never turn back into the Winter Soldier again. I know we've made a lot of strides with my memory, but if I can put all of that behind me forever..."

I hate the idea of leaving him. I hate the thought of having him frozen again, losing him. But I also know that my own selfish wishes don't really matter in this situation, because the light in his eyes at the thought of being free from the Winter Soldier is way more important.

"I will support you in whatever you need to do," I say, forcing a smile, "Of course you can do this. It's your decision to make."

He looks at me knowingly. "And you hate it."

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Yes, and I hate it. But if you want to do this, Bucky, I will do nothing to stop you. I want you to be happy and healthy, and so I will support you in this decision."

He leans forward and captures my lips in a deep kiss, threading his hand in my hair. When we pull apart I rest my forehead against his, wearing a bitter smile. "Are you going to do this right now, or...?"

"I wanna do this as soon as possible, if that's okay, but the princess generously offered a soundproof room and as much time as we need before she freezes me."

"Alright then, let's go."


	3. The Ship

"Hey, Steve, can you pass me that book over there?"

I look up from my phone at the sound of Natasha's voice, and follow her pointing finger to a large black book on a table. I stand and bring it over to her form sprawled comfortably in a chair. "Are you reading Twilight, Nat?"

"Shut up," I hear her mumble as she takes it from me. I laugh, and feel a hand swat my leg. "They're not that bad." I raise an eyebrow at that, and she sits up a bit to continue defending herself, "Okay, so they're garbage, but I can't stop reading! It's actually a problem. I mean, Charlie is the only sane character in this fucking town, everyone else just wants to have sex with vampires and be angsty. And all the relationships are so unhealthy-"

"Yeah, wow, sounds great," I say, moving up to the cockpit of the ship, "Enjoy." I slam the door behind me and sit next to Sam in a padded leather chair.

I like being in the cockpit. The views are nice, and there's an unspoken rule that you don't talk in here. We don't fly the ship often, it's too conspicuous, but when we do I like to spend my time watching the skies.

I see a bag of Corn Nuts out of the corner of my eye. Sam notices and offers me some. We share a smile and the snack before Sam stands and makes his way back to the main part of the ship. After some time alone, I join him.

"You excited to see your boy?" Sam says as I sit next to him.

"Very."

Two years ago, I watched a tube freeze over with Bucky inside. I stayed in Wakanda for a little while afterwards, but it was too hard. So, the ship. It's one of Wakanda's best, given to us generously by the King himself. Cloaking devices, separate quarters, and incredible speed are all part of the package. 

I miss him every day. I miss his smile, his words, his love. But I'm managing. I've got Sam and Nat, who were stupid enough to join me on my vigilante world tour. I've had pretty frequent visits to Wakanda to see him, and regular updates from Shuri. All things considered, life is pretty good. But it'll be a whole lot better once I have him back.

I'm trying not to think about it to much, our reunion. Nervous excitement fills me anyways, making my knees bounce and my hands fidgety. God, I miss him. All I want is to see him again, that's all I've really wanted since the moment he went into cryofreeze. And I get to have him.

A beeping noise makes all three of us jerk into alert. I rush into the cockpit, and see an orange light going off that's never lit up before. A distress signal, from Wanda and Vision. Anything strong enough to overpower them...

Let's just say we move quick.

++++++++++++++++

Nat's a little pissy as we bring them into the ship, but she keeps it under control. She worries about Wanda, she always has, and was furious when the two love bugs stopped checking in with us. I don't mind it as much, but then again I've been in their situation. I know how overpowering love can be, how it can make you do irrational things.

Bucky hasn't left my mind. The only anger I feel is a selfish one, that a world-threatening crisis is impeding on my reunion with the love of my life. I've waited two fucking years, I don't want to wait any longer. I just want him back.

And I'll get him back, I will. Everything becomes a whirlwind as we pick up more people, make our way to the hidden nation holding Him. Bruce is alive, that's great. Thanos wants to kill us all, not so great. I get to see Bucky. That's all that matters.

As we're let into Wakanda, an unshakable grin cements itself onto my face. I get to see him, I get to see him, I get to SEE him...

We land, and I practically race off the ship. I try to contain my excitement as I greet T'challa respectfully, but a twinkle in his eyes suggests that he sees right through my act. I don't care. I look past him and see...

Those beautiful blue eyes, open. Those beautiful lips, cracked into a wide smile. It feels like a thousand pounds were lifted from my heart in an instant, and I'm nearly reeling at the lgihtness I feel. "Bucky."

I'm running, running, and caught in his arms. Arms? Last I checked there was only one-but oh, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because he's here, God, he's here. His smell, masculine but gentle, his body, soft but strong, his breath, warm and unfrozen as it wafts onto my neck. Tears prick my vision as I just cling to him, bury myself in the man I missed so fucking much.

I pull back and cup his head into my hands, see tears streaming down his face too. I let out a watery laugh he echoes as we just look at each other, memorize the arches and lines of each other's face. He rests his forehead against mine and I close my eyes, just feel him.

My reverie is interrupted by the sound of an explosion. We jerk back and look up to see something explode on the force field surrounding Wakanda, fiery waterfalls cascading across the otherwise blue sky.

"Get the Vision up to Shuri now!" I hear T'challa bark, and the harsh sound of the gentle king's voice is enough to send people sprinting. A shield is shoved in my hand, the one that isn't wrapped around Bucky's waist. We look at each other, an unspoken melancholy stretched between us, and rush to action.

Yeah, Thanos is really taking a massive shit on my reunion. But it's only one fight, one fight before a lifetime of peace unhampered by the Winter Soldier or any Mad Titans. Just one, and we can rest.

As the alien dogs race towards us, I look to Bucky. He nods, sad but acceptant. One more. That's all, baby, and we're done. I love you, I mouth. He smiles at me before we race into battle.

I cut them down with an unyielding force, desperate to have this done. Though I know that this situation is severe, I can't keep my mind on anything other than Bucky. That's what matters. That's what I'm fighting for. These space dogs can suck my star-spangled dick, 'cause I'm not letting them take him away.

I'm on a field. 

I'm in a forest. 

I'm holding a gold gauntlet, strained and afraid as I try to hold back the raw power this being possesses. 

I'm tossed aside. 

I'm hurt. 

I'm standing. 

I'm walking to Thor. 

I'm looking at the empty space when Thanos should be. 

I'm confused.

I'm asking a question.

I'm turning around.

I'm watching him crumble.

"Steve?"


	4. The Name

Steve?

Steve?

Steve?

"Bucky?"

Steve?

"Bucky..."

Steve?

"BUCKY!"

The name of my (not dead not dead not dead) lover is torn out of my throat in a guttural, animalistic cry. His (not last not last not last) word echoes in my head.

Steve?

Steve?

My knees buckle as my wide eyes stare at the ground where he (he's still here he's still here he's still here) stood, a shaking hand reaching out to touch the pile of dust that replaced him.

Steve?

"Bucky?" I whisper, "Bucky, come-come on, Bucky, baby, come on, come back. This isn't funny, Buck-Bucky? Bucky, c-" My words stop in my throat and everything seems too sharp, too bright, too blurry, too dark. My chest tightens and I clutch it with the hand that's not on his dust (not dead not dead not dead), my jaw opening and letting out a choked sound.

Steve?

Steve?

"C'mon, Buck, where-where'd you...go..." My jaw quivers as my breath comes quicker, and both hands touch his (not dead not dead NOT dead) dust, supporting me as I fall forward. "Bucky, Bucky, c'mon..."

Steve?

I'm on my hands and knees, simply staring at the ground with wide eyes.

Steve?

Steve?

(NOT DEAD NOT DEAD NOT DEAD)

Steve?

(NOT DEAD NOT DEAD PLEASE GOD NOT DEAD)

"Steve?"

I visibly flinch at the sound. The echoes of His voice intensify, my brain a chorus of Steve? Steve? Steve? that can't, won't stop.

"Steve..." Her voice is shaky. Her hand is, too, as she places it on my shoulder.

Steve?

(not dead)

Steve?

Crumbling to nothing.

Steve?

(not dead?)

Steve?

(please, please, not dead)

Steve?

Dust on my hands.

Steve?

Oh, God, please....

Steve?

PLEASE

Steve?

(dead)

A scream tears out of my throat, loud and painful and unstoppable. My head bows down as my back arches, and I can barely keep myself from planting into the dirt (dust dust dust dead dust).

Steve?

The hand on my shoulder tightens and is joined by another as I yell, the sound cutting off only to be repeated once my lungs are filled again. My eyes are wide open, staring at the (dust) place where he fell, staring and burning from extended exposure to the air.

Steve?

My second scream is interrupted by a bout of frenzied breathing, and my hands balls into fists on the cold ground. The hands on me pull me back, so that I'm sitting, resting against a soft form. Arms wrap around me and a head rests on my shoulder, tears running down my arm.

Steve?

My face scrunches at his voice, and the tension inside me breaks out into another scream.

Steve?

The arms around me murmur soft words I can't make out into my ear as my wrecked voice still tries to vocalize my agony. Because it's agony, it's agony and I can't breathe I can't think I can't I can't not dead not dead oh god he's dead he's DEAD

Steve?

The scream turns into sobs, loud, ugly sobs that maintain a similar volume. My entire body feels limp and I fall back into the person holding me, feel myself die just like...

(not dead not dead not dead)

Steve?

...just like he did. Just like he did. I'm dying, dear God, I'm dying I can't-

Steve?

I feel myself starting to hyperventilate, hear indistinguishable words try to reach me. I don't care, I don't care, there's only one word that matters

Steve?

"BUCKY," I cry out, "BUCKY!"

I hear shooshing, feel hands in my hair, and let the sobs shaking my entire body set me down into the arms holding me. I hold onto them like a lifeline, careful not to hurt them but

(I never had to worry about hurting him)

Steve?

"Bucky," I say again, the name coming out more like a whine, "Bucky, Bucky..."

Steve?

My mouth is open, releasing these horrific cries I can't seem to stop. They'll never stop, never

Steve?

My heart feels like it's pounding out of my chest, everything inside my head is so loud that I think it'll explode.

Steve?

Steve?

I'm shaking, shaking, and being lifted? from the ground by someone strong. I open my eyes and see the (dust) again and fight the arms, reach mine out to go back.

Steve?

(not dead) not leaving I'm not leaving I'm NOT leaving, not again not again NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN

Steve?

My hands grab at the earth, try to get him back.

Steve?

I can't feel the difference between dirt and dust but I try, I pull back against the hands grabbing me and try to get him back, come back, COME BACK

Steve?

Tears blur my vision and more screaming? sobbing? something threatens to come out of my throat again. Dammit (Steve?) you've got to pull yourself together, do this for him, do this for  
Bucky  
you have to you HAVE to

Steve?

And it's useless. He's (not dead not dead) gone, I've (not dead) lost him again (NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN). I feel limp again, find myself on my hands and knees once more. When the hands grab at me again, they meet no resistance.

Steve?

I'm half carries, half dragged away from

Steve?

away from him, away from the only person I ever have and ever will love. I hear screams, crying, but they're nothing NOTHING compared to the

Steve?

the symphony of agony that's threatening to burst out of my skull. All that comes out of me is sobs, though, violent tears that can't stop. I'm weak, dying (not de) as they pull me out of the forest, bring me to a battlefield that's emptier than it should be.

Steve?

I can't. I can't, please, I can't

Steve?

PLEASE

Steve?

PLEASE

Steve?

People are talking, I can hear their voices, dim in the back of my head. Everything other than

Steve?

seems so insignificant, pales in comparison to the horrific idea that

Steve?

That he's

Steve?

(not dead)

Steve?

That he's dead.

Steve?

Steve?

And I can't (PLEASE) I can't stop crying, I can't stop thinking, I can't stop hearing Steve? on loop but all I want is for it to end

Steve?

Please, PLEASE let it end, please

Steve?

Not again, please

Steve?

I can't lose you again,  
Bucky,  
PLEASE PLEASE

Steve?

PLEASE

Steve?

(he's dead he's dead he's dead)

Steve?

And the sobbing, God, the sobbing, it's overwhelming. I can't stop, it's too much

Steve?

And hands are grabbing me more, they're setting me down, voices are saying (something?)

Steve?

And I don't I can't PLEASE

Steve?

And they're taking my arm PLEASE and there's a sharp pain and

Steve?

and it all starts to fade

Steve?

and I fight to stay awake for

for him and

and i can't and

and i need

i can't

i can't

please

Steve?

Steve?

please

please

please

bucky


	5. The Abyss

"We didn't even kiss."

My voice is hoarse from all the screaming. Natasha looks at me with a blotchy face and red rimmed eyes from her seat by my hospital bed, and I feel tears escape me as I continue talking. "We didn't even kiss, Nat, we didn't even talk. Two years-" my voice cracks and I pause to collect myself, "-two years and I just lost him again."

The tears are flowing now, and I bury my head in my hands. Nat puts a hand on my knee as she cries with me, no more words need to be said.

"How am I supposed to live, Nat? How am I-I can't-" My crying becomes more hysterical, and her hand squeezes my leg.

"Steve, honey, you gotta calm down. I know, trust me, I know, but we don't want to have to sedate you again."

"What if I want to be sedated?" My voice is low, wrecked. "What if I don't want to be without him, what if I don't want to have to face a world without B-Buck-" I try to say his name but fail, my cold determination to speak fizzling out as pitiful sobs shake me once more.

Natasha bites down on her wavering lower lip, trying to put her cold facade back on. "That's not going to happen, Rogers. Death...death is a part of life. You have to learn how-"

"I don't WANT to!" I roar, sudden rage overtaking me. I push her hand off my knee and look at her with ferocity. "I don't fucking care, Nat! Haven't I lost enough? Haven't I lost HIM enough? I don't WANT to accept this, I don't WANT to!"

"I know, Steve, and you're allowed to have time to grieve before you start moving on," Her voice is soothing, but it has no effect on me.

"No! No, I refuse-we can fix this. Come on, we can fix it. We can! I'll-I'll find Thanos, I'll MAKE him bring everyone back, we can-"

"Steve," Natasha interrupts, "We will do everything we can to reverse the snap. But we also need to prepare ourselves for a likely reality where that's not possible." She stands, and makes her way to the door of my hospital room. "Try to get some rest. I have to help the others."

Fuck you, Nat. I'm going to fix this.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The next few days pass in a hazy blur of rage and pain. Sam. Wanda. T'challa. Him. Because God knows I haven't suffered enough in my life.

When Natasha comes back, she tells me we're going to New York. I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave Him here alone. But she says I have to. Because near Nick Fury's ashes, they found a pager. And it might mean hope.

I sit next to Rhodey on the jet. Like everyone else, the scars of crying mar his face. With a jolt, I remember that Tony Stark is missing. Though I haven't spoken to the man since he tried to kill me and B-since he tried to kill us two years ago, the thought of him dying admittedly is painful. 

Thor and Bruce sit quietly talking in a corner. Though it's nice to see them back, the joy of reunion is overshadowed by the agony of loss. Natasha comes to sit by me, and I try not to cry as she curls up underneath my arm. I wish I had someone else to hold.

It doesn't look like Natasha's slept in days, so it doesn't surprise me when she nods off on my chest. I lean my head back and try to join her in repose, as my dreamless sleep is one of the only places where I don't have to see his face.

I'm jolted awake when the jet lands. Pepper Potts rushes up to Rhodey as the doors open, and they share a tearful embrace. Happy Hogan stands silent behind her, and greets his friend once Pepper is finished hugging him.

It isn't until Natasha tugs at my arm that I realize I need to stand up. I stumble down the ramp and let her pull me into the Avengers Compound. She sets me down on a leather couch and goes to greet everyone else, and I simply sit and stare.

I'm jolted out of the nothingness in my head by the booming voice of Thor. "It is good to see you, Captain," he says gravely, "Though I wish our meeting was under better circumstances."

I hum a response, too scattered to give a coherent answer. That seems to mollify him, though, and he leaves. I close my eyes and try to will myself into emptiness again, but am pulled back to reality by Bruce. "Hey, Steve,"

I don't even open my eyes or respond, but he continues nonetheless. "I heard that he was dusted. I'm so sorry, Steve, I can't imagine how difficult these last few years have been." I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, try to fight back the pain clawing its way back to the forefront of my brain. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it and it can't hurt you-

A calloused hand touches mine and squeezes. "I, uh...just know that we're all here for you, Steve. Okay? We are going to get through this together." And with that he's gone.

I don't know how much time I spend in this empty abyss that's replaced coherent thought. Natasha comes back, leads me to a bedroom. Takes off my clothes, puts me in a shower. Tells me to wash myself. I don't. She does it for me. Drys me off. Puts some soft clothes back on me. Puts me in bed. Tells me to sleep. I don't. She hums some Russian lullaby until I drift asleep. When I wake in the morning, she's still there.

Some part of me is vaguely grateful for what she's doing, but the vast majority of my existence is just foggy and empty, so I say nothing to thank her.

Natasha pulls me into the bathroom, sets me down on a toilet. Shaves my face. When she shows me her handiwork in a mirror I'm struck by the fact that I look like myself. I expected to see a ghost looking back at me.

I'm dragged to a dining room. Other people are there, I feel their eyes on me. Natasha makes me food, makes me eat it. I try, but what's the point of feeding a corpse? Hunger was lost with Him.

She leaves to go do...something. I don't know. I stand up and wander a bit, coming across a room where most of the remaining Avengers are gathered. A pager is being examined on one side of the room, but most people are standing around a holographic display. Faces are cycled through, faces of dusted individuals. I stare in the corner where no one can see me, silently observe the dead.

I'm empty.

I'm nothing.

And then I see him.

A smiling face, unworried and beautiful, captioned "James 'Bucky' Barnes, deceased." And the walls come crashing down, and my knees hit the floor, and the sobs rock my body, and the empty is filled with agony, and people rush to my side, and everything hurts, and everything hurts, and everything hurts so bad that I just want to die.

I just want to die.

But instead I have to live in a world without Bucky.

Because he's dead.

Because he's dead.

Because he's dead.


	6. The Raccoon

"Cap? Hey, uh, Steve?"

I grunt in response, throwing a hand over my eyes to protect them from the light now flooding my bedroom. I don't know whose silhouette was dumb enough to wake me up, and I don't intend to find out. I roll over and lie face down onto my pillow, try to block out everything.

"Steve, seriously. I know you're-you're having a hard time, but you gotta get up."

I stay put. With a sigh, Bruce grabs my shoulders and tries to pull me out of bed to no avail. "Come-on-Steve-get-up-"

"Oh for the love of God, we don't have time for this," I hear Natasha snap, and I jolt with a gasp as she pours freezing cold water over my head.

The plane hits the ground hard, and I yelp at impact. The cold, the freezing cold pervades my body as the water slowly rises, and panic fills me. I start hyperventilating, start trying to escape, but that horrific cold floods over my head and freezes me before I have the chance-

"-s not cool, Natasha," I hear Bruce say crossly as I shudder, grab a dry blanket from the foot of my bed, try to get warm.

"Well, it was effective," she responds, and grabs me. I wrap the blanket tighter around me and dumbly follow, unable to resist. Bruce scampers after us as we make our way down the hallways of the Compound.

Natasha stops outside a closed door and turns to me with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Steve. That was a really cruel way to get you to come here. It's important though." She opens the door and pushes me inside.

The remaining Avengers are scattered around the room, all surrounding a weak man sitting in a wheelchair. My eyes widen at the sight, and I let the blanket drop to the ground.

Too many eyes turn to me, and I stagger back at the attention. My gaze sweeps manically around the room, before locking on Tony Stark's. His eyes look tired, empty, and I stare into them intently. He looks down after a moment, and clears his throat. "Long time no see, Cap."

I look over at Natasha, and she motions her head for me to face him. I comply, and realize I probably need to respond to him. "Uh, hi."

"I...I heard about Barnes-" My stomach drops and I grab it, try to hold in the emotions festering beneath the surface, "-and I'm really sorry, Steve. I can't imagine how hard this is for you."

Natasha steps forward and grabs my arm encouragingly, but it only makes me feel worse. My eyes are assaulted by a hot sting, and I do my best to contain my tears. Tony takes my silence as an opportunity to keep talking.

"Y'know, it's been a long two years. And Jesus, Steve, I never thought I'd be apologizing to you, but I guess I am. You're...you did some dumb shit, but you did it because you loved him. And I hate to see you looking like you are right now, Steve, it's hard to be angry."

I look up at him, and see genuine sorrow painted on his face. Natasha clears her throat and shoves me a little, and I rush to return the apology. "Yeah, I..." A mutinous tear escapes me and I wipe it away quickly, try to make my voice sound less empty, "I'm sorry, too. I never wanted things to get so...out of hand, I just wanted-" my voice breaks, "-I just wanted to protect him..." More tears start coming and I brush at them quickly, angry that I can't even think of I can't even I can't even think of of him without breaking.

Tony sighs deeply and I see my tears being passed around the room. I guess watery eyes and sniffles are trendy these days, everyone seems to be wearing them. Natasha and Bruce each put an arm around me, and I accept the affection.

"I lost the kid," I hear Tony say quietly, "I know it's not...but you're not alone. We all...lost someone we cared about. We can all get through this together." I hear him let out a dry chuckle. "Jesus, I thought you were the one who's supposed to give the inspirational speech with the 'We Can Do This!' line. Desperate times, I guess..." His brief spout of humor trails off and silence fills the room once more.

"We got a response from Fury's pager," Rhodey says, gathering attention from the broken people assembled in front of him, "Turns out Thor wasn't the first alien friend he made. There's a woman, Carol. Crazy powerful, currently doing some interplanetary aid until we need her. If there's any chance of getting them back, she's it."

No one looks surprised by this information, and I realize I'm probably the only person here who hasn't already heard it. I nod, and see Rhodey give a tight smile.

"Well, unless anyone has more to say, I think we should get back to the med bay," Pepper says, clearing her throat and standing behind Tony's chair, "It's good to see everyone together again."

As she pushes the wheelchair out the door, I hear someone murmur, "Not everyone," I scan the room, try to figure out who said that, and my eyes land on...a raccoon.

"Uh, why is there a raccoon wearing clothes sitting in that armchair?" I ask, earning a few surprised glances in response. The raccoon turns to me in fury (what?) and starts yelling (wHAT?).

"I'm not a fucking raccoon, for the love of God! If one more asshole calls me that I'm gonna rip their fucking face off!" He's grabbed by a blue robot woman, restrained from attacking me.

Natasha turns to me with a poorly concealed grin. "That's Rocket. As you may have gathered, he is not a fan of being referred to as a raccoon. If you would like to keep your face attached to your body, I suggest you refrain from using that word."

I smile back at her, but it immediately turns to a frown. It hits me that this is the first time I've felt something even remotely close to joy since he-since the last time I saw him, and. It. Hurts. I let out a shuddering breath and try to stay composed, keep from screaming or sobbing or just dying on the spot.

Nat doesn't look at me like I'm crazy. Instead, she puts her arms around me and holds me tight. She doesn't question. She doesn't judge. And that's exactly right.


	7. The Kitchen

"There's a chance."

The words are spoke with such fervor, such hope, that I'm drawn out of my bleary eyes and vacant stare to turn towards an excited Natasha. "What's a chance, Nat?"

"Steve, there's a chance," And with that it clicks-there's a chance. There's a chance to get them, to get him back.

Holy shit, there's a chance.

I stand quickly and open my mouth to speak, but she grabs my arm and pulls instead of letting me talk. "There was another level of energy identical to that of the Snap. Off on some far away planet, Rocket's going to take us there. We think that Thanos used the stones again, and if we can get them-"

"We can use them to get everyone back. To get Bucky back."

A chance. Though I can see she's trying to contain her hope, it shines out of her and blinds me. Natasha lost people, everyone did, but that doesn't have to last any longer. Because we can get the stones, we can get them back. We can get him back.

I race to put on my uniform. It's clean, who washed it? I decide not to worry about it as I join the others, speed walking outside while still adjusting my clothes.

Rhodey gives me an approving smile as I join him outside the spaceship. I manage to return it, because I'm gonna get my baby back today. Anything is possible if I can get him back today.

Everyone looks to the sky as a fiery streak makes its way towards us. I look to Natasha to gauge her reaction, and her calm expression confirms my suspicion that this is the Captain Marvel everyone's been talking about. She drops to stand before the remaining Avengers, and her strong gaze passes over everyone.

"Are we ready to go?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"Yep, I think so," Tony replies, and she nods before shooting back up into the sky. We take that as our cue to enter the ship, and strap ourselves into the unfamiliar craft.

The raccoon tells me not to throw up in his ship, I'm not really paying attention. My eyes catch on Thor, the cheerful man looking much more gloomy than usual. "You alright, Thor?"

Several people look up at that, but avert their eyes and let us talk. Thor simply watches me with his eyes holding both youth and age, before responding, "No."

I nod. I get it. The rest of the ride to Thanos' holiday home is silent.

We drop to the surface of the planet and rush to the hut, guns blazing. I feel a fire light inside me, give me purpose. I can get him back, I can get him BACK. I can do anything if it means I can get him back.

And then Rocket turns over the gauntlet, to reveal a noticeable absence of stones.

I feel my stomach drop, and try to think of where else they could be. Maybe he hid them, and we just have to find them and then I can-

"I used the stones to destroy the stones."

No, no, that can't-he didn't. He couldn't have. Because those stones are my only chance to get him back, and I'm going to do that, so they can't really be gone-

A fleshy sound comes from Thanos as Thor sweeps his head clear off his shoulder. Everyone looks to the god with horror, but he just gives a pained sort of victorious exclamation-"I went for the head."

My heart starts to pound again and I shut my eyes tight. Come on, this isn't really the end, it's not

But some part of me knows that it is. We've reached the end of the line, love. Hot tears come crashing down my face as a lump forms in my throat. Dear God, please, please, PLEASE.

I look up, as if expecting divine intervention to bring him back. I guess God is through with Steve Rogers.

======================

Haven't I lost him enough? Haven't I lost him enough?

These are the words that repeat themselves over and over in my head as I trash my room in the compound.

I know that I need to be America's golden boy, the poster child here to save the day. Fuck that. I've earned my right to destroy, to scream, because I've lost enough. I shouldn't have to lose him.

My hands are bloody and painful, but in some sick way that just helps feed the empty satisfaction I'm gaining from this violent rage. I open the cabinets, throw every plate and bowl as hard as I can at the wall. The plaster breaks along with the dishes, and the white paint is starting to become red as I punch it.

Haven't I lost him enough? It should've been him mourning me. I shouldn't have lived this long, not being born as sickly as I was. He's strong, healthy, and yet I outlived him?

When I got the serum, I thought we could live together. That fact in the foreground, the knowing that I would probably die before I turned thirty, that became untrue as I became this specimen that I am. We could just live long lives in each other's company, and never worry about an early death.

And then he fell.

And it should've been me, it should've been me, because Steve Rogers is not supposed to outlive Bucky Barnes. That's not the way the world works, that's not how it's supposed to work.

And then he was alive.

And we found love.

And life became a haze, a glorious dream I never seemed to wake up from. That life I wanted to live before he fell, one where we grew old together and just had peace, that was possible. I should've realized that all dreams have to end sometime.

I rip the cabinet door off its hinges once the shelves are emptied of dishes, and toss it into the shards littering my floor. I try to ignore the tears, try to focus on the anger, because that fire is so much easier to handle than the crushing sadness. I should not have outlived him the first time, it certainly shouldn't've happened again.

Yet here we are.

In a bloody, broken kitchen.

And I'm alone.


	8. The Bottle

I wake up on the floor of my bedroom, not remembering how I got there. I look and see that I'm still wearing my suit, which is caked in dirt and stained by Thanos' blood. I groan and start peeling the thing off, trying to kick my legs out of my pants without getting off the floor.

I realize I should probably take a shower, but the trek to the bathroom that's two feet away feels impossible. I make the journey somehow, scooting on my ass until I'm on tiled floor. I use the bathroom counter to hoist myself onto my feet, and step into the bathtub without turning on the light.

I turn the knob and adjust the shower head so that first gush of cold water doesn't hit me. Once it's warm enough for me to touch, I move the shower head back and just stand under it, leaning against the tiled wall and exhaling.

I know I should probably clean myself off, but I'm just too damn tired. I make the water hotter, see steam rise. Then I make it even hotter. Then a little hotter after that. My skin is red, burning under the scalding temperature, but I still just stand there.

(dead)

A sob attacks me, and I double over as tears suddenly start pouring out of me in a flood that intermingles with the shower water. I'm crying so hard that it hurts, my lungs can hardly get the air they need in all this steam. I grope to find the knob and then turn the shower off, sit in the empty tub until I have enough control over myself to get out.

(dead)

"Steve?"

Couldn't save him. I couldn't save him. And by the time I finally crawl out of the bathtub, that steam that was so thick in the room is long gone. I sit on the floor of the bathroom and pull a towel off its hook, let it tumble onto my lap. I manage to get up, and stumble into my bedroom.

Tony set up the Compound before the Avengers broke up, so there's unfamiliar clothes in the dresser that fit me. I grab a shirt and pajama pants at random, and get dressed heavily. My stomach growls, so I decide to get something to eat.

My kitchen is covered in blood and shards of glass. Right. I walk normally, ignoring the pain as I step on the broken remnants of my dishware. I spot a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the pantry, and pour some milk directly into the bag. I grab an ice cream scoop and look for a place to sit down and eat. There isn't really one, my destruction was thorough. I go into the hallway and sit on the floor outside my door.

Thor comes stumbling towards me, holding a bottle of what I assume is very potent alcohol. He gives me a depressed drunk's grin and crashes down beside me, giving me a one armed hug and a wet kiss on the cheek. "Captaaaain! Capt-I love your pants, they look like-hic!-a tree!"

"Hey, Thor," I mutter back, scooping out some cereal and trying to fit my odd choice of a spoon into my mouth. In the process of this impossible task, I feel a cold bottle being pressed against my face.

"This," Thor slurs with utter seriousness, "Issa most amazing drink in the WHOLE universe. I bet even YOU could get drunk from it, it's SOOOO strong. SO strong. An', an' it doesn't matter if I don' have a brother, or a home, or a hammer, or hair, or a best friend, or a father, or an eye, because I got MEEEEEAD!" He lifts the bottle in celebration and yells, spilling a little bit on his now much shorter hair. "Fuck."

I look at him blearily, and drop my ice cream scoop to hold his bottle. I lift it to my lips...

"So you say this stuff is strong enough to get us drunk? Even after the serum?"

Bucky looks at the bottle with disbelief, and I chuckle at the incredulous expression. "Yeah, Buck, Thor brought it from Asgard as a gift for me. But then I wasn't there, so he just left it in the Tower. Sam picked it up and brought it back for us."

He grins and takes a swig, immediately coughing. "Ah, fuck, that's strong." I grin at him.

"Yeah, baby, that's the point."

Soon enough we're both giggly messes. Bucky lost his pants at some point, and he's wrapped a blanket around his lower half to keep warm. My head is in his lap, and I look at him sleepily as he rants about khakis.

"They just make you look old, Steve! They're-they're fuckin' STUPID! You..." He trails off, looking at me, and his playful anger is replaced by dopey adoration. "Aww, but you're so prettyyyyy, you look good in ANYTHING." He leans down to give me a kiss, but I roll away before our lips can meet.

Bucky looks at me with mock outrage, clutching his chest as I giggle. "Steven Grant Rogers! What're-we were gunna kiss, why's'd you roll aWAY?"

I just laugh harder, sitting up and leaning against the back of the couch. He crawls over to me, and straddles my lap. "Stevie, baby, I just wanna KISSSSSS you, why can't I?" he whines, pouting and trying to kiss me again.

"I'm not gonna fuck you when I'm dRUNK, Bucky," I giggle, running my hand through his hair as he mopes. "We gotta-we gotta be-you're SO beautiful, Bucky, and we gotta be SOBER if we're gonna fuck."

"I didn't say I wan'ed to have SEX, I just wan'ed'a KISS you!" He looks genuinely sad now, and I let him curl up in my arms. He's still on my lap but I don't mind at all, I just hold him and let him feel sad.

"Sorryyyy," I whisper, "Sorry, sorry, sorryyyyyyy..."

"S'okay," he says, lifting his head and smiling at me. "I still love you SO much. Like, SO much."

I grin back at him, and feel a shocking little kiss touch my mouth. Bucky smirks at me, and I roll my eyes before giving him another, longer one. We just stay in that moment, living in lips and love, drunk on more than just Asgardian mead. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I drop the bottle, and Thor let's out an angry "Hey!" as it shatters on the ground. I look down at myself-wearing mismatched pajamas, holding a box of sugary cereal and an ice cream scoop, sitting painfully alone on a wet floor. And I cry again, because that's all I seem to be able to do.

Maybe Thor tries to comfort me, I don't know. He's a little too far gone to help someone else. I just lie down, drop the cereal box and let the milk inside soak my pants, understand that life is just broken glass and tears now. I pick up a piece of the shattered bottle and squeeze, let blood seep from my fingers and drip into the puddle I'm lying in. Because why not. Because what else am I supposed to fucking do.


	9. The Past

"Steve, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now." Natasha's voice is firm but kind, and I have to fight my submissive instincts to stay firm in my stance.

"Nat, I just think I need to take some time. M-grieve on my own, I guess. I just want to go...home."

She looks at me deeply for a long moment, and I try to look convincing. A sigh escapes her, and I realize that she's too overwhelmed to argue. "Sure, Steve. Do what you need to. Just...call. Visit, and invite others to visit you. We're all mourning together, don't forget that."

Don't worry, Natasha. I don't think I ever could.

And so I find myself in the drivers seat of a blue car, a suitcase in the backseat and a group of friends waving me goodbye. I drive in silence, watching the buildings pass in a blur. I drive through Manhattan, and pass by Central Park...

I park the car near an ice cream stand. "What the FUCK is that?" Bucky asks, pointing to a popsicle that's supposed to look like Spongebob but actually looks like the demonic objectification of a murderous clown. I let out a belly laugh at his outraged expression.

"That's ice cream, Buck," I explain. He looks at the yellow abomination again then turns to me with disbelief.

"That is Satan, Steven. Buy me one."

After purchasing two horrific popsicles (which are surprisingly delicious), we meander through the wooded paths of Central Park, talking about everything and nothing. I grasp his metal hand after a little while, and he looks at me with pure happiness. Not euphoria, or lust, or anything intense-just the content glance of a man who has found joy a small pocket of the world.

We walk for hours, hand in hand, stopping whenever Bucky sees a pretty flower or I spot a bench. We talk about past horrors, future hopes, and every little thing in between. Although I've already been reacquainted with Bucky, this casual stroll is another reminder of just how much I missed him. It's unbelievable to me that I went 70 years without the face he makes when he's trying to remember something, or the light in his eyes when he talks about something he cares about.

I feel tears brimming, and turn on the radio to a random station. I turn the volume all the way up, try to drown out my thoughts. It's a 90's hits station, currently playing Intergalactic by the Beastie Boys. It's loud, loud enough to distract me from my memory. I silently groan when the song ends, and when the next one starts I actually have to pull over to sob.

"Fuck yeah, this is my jam!" I hear Bucky yell as the song starts. We've barely gotten onto the road, but it's already been a great experience.

"You are my fire..."

He's singing so dramatically, and I try to act annoyed so that it'll be even better when I join in. It's hard to contain my smile at his crazy facial expressions and beautiful voice, but I do my best, until finally-

"TELL ME WHY!" I sing it as loud as I can, perfectly aware that my voice is off key and terrible. His joy is practically tangible, and he gleefully sings the part of the background singers. We dance and belt out the rest of the song (at least, the parts we know) and Bucky boos when the song ends.

I laugh, and turn down the radio. I hear Bucky sigh happily, and say, "I love you, Stevie."

"I love you too." The words fall out of my mouth m=with no hesitation, because there's no part of me that doesn't adore him. I take his hand and squeeze it, looking at his beautiful face and feeling nothing but joy.

I feel nothing but pain, an stabbing heartache that's like fire inside me. My Bucky, my baby, my one desire and my everything...he's gone. And the pain, the horror that fact sends coursing through me is unbearable.

I realize I forgot to turn on my hazard lights, and the sound of cars honking is enough to bring me back to a functional state. I put it in drive and keep moving, taking one hand off the wheel to wipe my face and nose every once in a while.

I don't stop driving, not even when it gets dark. I'm determined to get to my location without any breaks, and so I fight through my exhaustion, hunger, and need to urinate to follow through on this goal. By the time I get there, I'm tired enough that I fall asleep right in my seat after turning off the engine.

I wake up sore in the morning, which makes sense due to my odd sleeping arrangements. I look up in silence at the house in front of me, the seaside mansion we spent so much time in. I ignore the brimming tears-God, I've cried enough already-and grab my suitcase, make my way to the front door.

It's a little dusty in here, and painfully dark. I flip on a light switch, and feel a jolt of both comfort and sorrow at the familiar sight. This was the first place I had lived since the forties that really felt like home, that was mine. Ours. It's a haunting tribute to my past joy, as well as a painful reminder of my loss. I set down my bag and decide to look around.

His words dance in my head as I slowly meander through the house, a pale shadow of the man who used to live here.

"Man, that oven is huge. I think I'll use it to bake you some lasagna today, babe, would you..."

"Mmm, Stevie, you smell good. Did you get new shampoo or something?"

"Fuck! Ah, sorry, just stubbed my toe, everything's fine..."

"Wow, that painting is coming along great. Maybe you could put some of those blue swirly things on the edge, here, so it looks a little more cohesive? You're the artist, of course, just making a suggestion..."

I go upstairs, but stop outside of the bedroom. Our bedroom. Come on, Rogers, don't be a coward...

I step inside with conviction, and sharply exhale at the sight that awaits me. It's exactly how we left it, books on the bedside table and a blanket kicked onto the floor. I step forward slowly and dare to touch it, this place where he rested by my side each night and woke up in my arms each morning. I notice that the sheets are a bit stiff, and realize that we forgot to wash them before leaving.

Well, I suppose there's project number one.

I strip the bed, trying not to think about anything at all, and bring my load down to the laundry room. I start the machine and put in the detergent, but stop before loading it up. I touch those sheets, that little remnant of him, and I leave them be. It's gross, I know, but I just can't bring myself to get rid of anything he...of any part of him. I can't.

I claim one of the guest bedrooms, unable to live in that room we loved so much. I set down my suitcase and spend the day dusting, wiping down surfaces and sweeping the floors. I don't eat, though I can practically hear his disapproving rant. "C'mon, Steve, you can't take care of others if you don't take care of yourself..."

I do grab an apple before I go to sleep just to make my head shut up.

I check my phone and see several missed calls, people wondering where I went. I text Natasha, ask her to tell them. It's unfair to put that on her, I know, but I also just don't have the energy. I trudge upstairs and fall onto the bed, look at the ceiling and try to sleep.

It's just hard to do that when my reason to wake up in the morning is gone.


	10. The Jump

Knives are weird objects.

I mean, they're tools. Objects. Yet they have such a stigma, such negativity surrounding them. I don't really get that. I mean, a gun will only shoot if you make it. A knife will only wound if you let it.

And they're very functional in everyday life, no one can deny that. So they're weird, because there's such hatred for such a simple thing. A blade. It's only how you use it, not what the object is by itself. So there shouldn't be a stigma.

Or maybe there should be. I like knives. I like them a lot. I've grown to like them a lot more since Bucky died, although I know I shouldn't. I'll remember that day when I saw his leg, red marks angrily sprawled across it. I remember the terror, the fear. I remember thinking, "Why would he ever do that? Why would anyone ever do that?" I understand now, Bucky. I understand.

We kissed for the first time that day. I feel my eyes water at the memory. That fear quickly gave way to pent up emotion, an overwhelming amount of love that I finally knew was requited. I never forgot those wounds, but they stayed in the background of more happy things. Because I knew that he wouldn't do that again, because he promised he would tell me if he ever felt the urge. And I trusted him. Because Bucky Barnes never breaks a promise.

I wish I didn't understand. I wanted to, in that moment. I wanted to feel his pain, help him through it. It's a slippery slope, though, one I'm starting to fall down. It's relief, sweet relief, a way to let out the pain inside my head. But then that pain gets worse, once I'm through. And then I do it again, for relief. And then it gets worse. And so on.

I hear his voice whenever I do it. I hear him begging me to stop, to stay whole for him. But I can't. Bucky Barnes can keep a promise, Steve Rogers cannot.

Nat's called a couple times, I've gotten texts from a few other people. For the most part, they leave me be. Everyone's grieving, how am I different? I'm not. The only thing that makes my pain stand out is that I'm not pushing past it to help others like Nat is doing, like Rhodey is doing, like Captain America should be doing. Nope, too weak for that, just sitting here and wallowing.

It's productive wallowing, though. I'm renovating the house, fixing all the little things that drove Bucky nuts. What I don't know how to do I learn. What tools I don't have I buy. It's something to do, something to keep my mind off of  
And I'm working hard, really, long days without breaks. I know I NEED to eat, technically, but hunger is low on the list of priorities. Other things are more important.

That guest bedroom (because it will never be MY bedroom, not without) is where I collapse each night, dirty and exhausted. I do shower, just because it's hard to fix up and clean a house when you're covered in filth. So there's my self care.

Whenever I don't pick up the phone, Natasha leaves me messages. She's running the world right now, yet she still takes the time to reach out. Because people are moving on, because people are able to do that. It's been what, three months? What have I done other than cry and bleed and work? Nothing. Because I'm nothing, because my life is nothing.

I know I should have more, should be able to function normally and move on. But I'm trapped in this ache, this sadness, that refuses to go away. I just...I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.

I had a life other than Bucky. I had friends, I had hobbies, I had a job that was fulfilling. Yet I lose him and it's all down the drain, I'm reduced to nothing more than sweat, blood, and tears. I'm nothing. I had everything, and now I have nothing.

That's probably why I'm at the top of this building.

It was really easy to get up here. Just had to drive to Portland, ignoring the garbage on the road and dusty skies. Parked the car outside a tall building, walked through the abandoned place to get to the roof. Stand at the edge. Think.

The only thing I have to offer the world anymore is my serum. And if I can't even muster up the ability to use that, to fight and protect, what am I? I'm nothing. The jump is simple, is a kind end to all of this. One step to freedom, one step to heaven.

It's that thought that makes me do it. If there's a heaven, Bucky is there. And if Bucky is there, they'll have to let me in. I'll stop at nothing to see him again. Even this little step for man, giant leap for mankind can't keep me away from him. This is a beginning, not an end, and I'd like to do something helpful with the time I have left. This is helpful. This will be helpful, once it works.

My heart is racing, though my mind is set. I never really liked heights, not after I watched Bucky fall off that train. I suppose this is a parallel to that moment, the moment everything started to crumble. Except this time, we will be reunited instead of separated. This time, it'll end with us both being   
dead.

I ignore the quick breaths, the shaking hands. Come on, Rogers, it's just one step. One step. I almost wait for someone to tell me to step backwards instead, to stay alive for the sake of the world. But no one comes, because this world is empty and the people left can't care about another lost life. Not when it's my life about to be lost.

A moment of calm, and I make the step.

The wind is whistling in my ears, and I try to feel the calm I was promised. It doesn't come-instead, everything starts to move in slow motion.

The ground approaches, and all I can think of is Nat she's working so hard and I can help her I didn't even look at her last voicemail what if she needs me I didn't even say goodbye she'll be devastated to lose another friend and it's selfish of me to leave her

I continue to fall and think of Bruce I didn't even think to ask where he's been what if he's struggling or if he had a tough time wherever he was and I haven't even seen him since I left the Tower I need to talk to him

I'm so close, so close, and my terror intensifies with a I've never been to that pizza place downtown I've never owned a pet I've never been white water rafting I've never seen New Zealand

And I hit the ground.

Pain explodes throughout my body, and I let out a deep groan. I've definitely broken a few ribs, maybe an arm. Earned enough bruises to last a lifetime.

But I have a lifetime now.

Is that a good thing? I...think so. It's hard to tell, lying on the pavement with no help in sight, but I think so. I think so.

I hope so.


	11. The Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally posted this story on Wattpad. I included notes there because it was helpful to develop relationships with my readers and get more information on how to write. WANTED was my first fanfic ever, so I got in the habit of leaving notes and making personal connections with people through them.  
> I haven't been doing that here because I don't want to, but this chapter is important. Suicide and mental health are extremely important topics to understand, and without notes I'm not giving people much notice that I'll be covering them. I had this chapter on Wattpad as well, a collection of resources for anyone struggling with mental health issues. Please read it, and understand that you are loved and I do not want my writing to be responsible in any way for the distress of others. You are loved.

If you have related to any of Steve's thoughts and actions, particularly in the last chapter, please take a look at the following and (hopefully) gain some resources for help.

The View From Halfway Down, a poem featured on the television show Bojack Horseman. I know that sounds silly, but it touched me.

The weak breeze whispers nothing  
The water screams sublime  
His feet shift, teeter-totter  
Deep breath, stand back, it's time

Toes untouch the overpass  
Soon he's water-bound  
Eyes locked shut but peek to see  
The view from halfway down

A little wind, a summer sun  
A river rich and regal  
A flood of fond endorphins  
Brings a calm that knows no equal

You're flying now  
You see things much more clear  
Than from the ground

It's all okay, or it would be  
Were you not now halfway down

Thrash to break from gravity  
What now could slow the drop  
All I'd give for toes to touch  
The safety back at top

But this is it, the deed is done  
Silence drowns the sound

Before I leaped I should've seen  
The view from halfway down

I really should've thought about  
The view from halfway down

I wish I could've known about  
The view from halfway down

Two ways that I help curtail the urge to hurt myself:

1\. Draw a butterfly on your arm, or wherever you think you might hurt. Name it. If you hurt that butterfly, it will die. You are responsible for your butterfly. You cannot kill your butterfly.  
2\. Get an ice cube and just hold it in your hand. It's cold, shocking, and it can relieve the compulsion in a non destructive way.

I have lots of little tidbits, collected from all over the place, things that make me want to live a little more. I hope that if you're in a dark place, you have them too. Because you deserve joy, you deserve love, and even if you can't see that right now, it still holds true. Life sucks. I know it does. But there are things that don't suck, right? And sure, they seem so insignificant compared to the towering evils fucking obliterating everything, but one time I didn't kill myself because a man walking his dog went across the bridge I was standing on and that dog strained to reach me. So small, but it saved my life. One little thing, that's all it took.  
Obviously, that dog didn't fix everything. It didn't cure my depression, it didn't take me out of my abusive household, but it was one tiny gesture of love and happiness in a sea of pain. And it was enough. And I know that you're hurting right now, because shit, I am too. But we can do it, okay? We can find a dog, or a smile from a stranger, or a free drink from the person ahead of you in line at Starbucks. And it'll be enough. Or, we can BE the person walking the dog, the smiling stranger, the generous patron. We can be enough. YOU ARE ENOUGH. And you're gonna make it through, I promise. It might be like trying to put cats in a bag, and you might get scratches all over your hands, but you'll do it. You'll still have a bag full of cats at the end, and they might break out later, but you'll know how to get them back in.  
I could keep going on forever. I could keep telling you all the ways you contribute to the world, even without knowing you. I'll leave it here, though, telling you that you are LOVED. That you are ESSENTIAL. That you are ENOUGH. And if you can't agree with me, I understand. But I promise, someday you will. And I can't wait to see it.

Also, more specific to this story, Steve suffers from prolonged grief disorder. This is part of why he is experiencing such tremendous pain, why he feels so empty. Anyone experiencing grief has perfectly valid feelings and reactions, but that's a little background to why his is so severe.


	12. The House

"Hey Steve, just calling to check in. I know you're...having a hard time, we all are, so just...call me?"

"Steve, you didn't pick up last time, remember that we have the '3 missed calls and I assume you're dead' rule in place. Please call me back, I don't want to feel any less lonely than I already do."

"I got your text, so I know you're not dead. Are you even listening to these messages? That seems pretty doubtful. I hope you are, Steve, I know...I know you need your space to grieve, and I respect that. But I've already lost all my friends, do I have to lose another?"

"I guess I'm not worried that you didn't pick up the phone, you've been responding lately. Don't think you're listening to the messages though, which is fine. It's not like I'm saying anything important.  
Look, I know you're hurting. I really do, and I'm trying to understand, to let you just...be. But this is HARD, Steve, being one of the only people in charge of the entire fucking world is HARD, and I just wish I could talk to you about it. I mean, technically I'm talking to you right now, but it's not like you're listening.  
I'm so used to blending into shadows, staying out of sight. Now I'm here in the spotlight, taking care of everything while you and Clint are doing God knows what. I've lost less than you two, I understand that, but I just wish you'd be my friend. Fuck, that sounds so desperate. But it's true."

"Has it only been five months? Feels like longer. Pick up the phone, Steve. I need your help."

I exit out of the calling app on my phone and sigh heavily, thinking over Natasha's words. Five months. Two since I jumped. I didn't tell her, probably should've. The house is pretty much done, everything I'm working on is just unnecessary renovation. But it's something to do. To keep my mind off of things.

I feel guilty for distancing myself, sure. In five months, I've seen my friends twice. They came to me once, I went to them once. Both occasions were awkward and sad and afterwards we all silently agreed to stick to phone calls and texts. And then even those became few and far between.

Clint left his farm, after he lost his entire family to Thanos. Went off on a killing spree, one that Natasha is responsible for ending. And that kills her, I know, but I just can't spare the energy to support her emotionally when I can't even support myself.

I've been better. I can't exactly get a therapist, the demand far outweighs the supply on that front. I could get on medication if I wanted to, could call up Bruce and ask him to whip up some super soldier antidepressants, but I just don't feel like it. I can manage on my own, I don't need chemicals to handle myself.

Every day is another memory, another echo of the man who used to brighten these rooms. I see him in the kitchen, making food and laughing. I see him in the living room, throwing popcorn at me as we watch a movie. I see him along the rocky beaches, walking with me and holding my hand. He's everywhere, inescapable.

I've been getting a little stir crazy, oddly enough. I've been keeping insanely busy, working day and night on this house. But I'm running out of things to do, and the absence of work leaves room for Bucky to be on my mind. That's unacceptable. So I've been thinking over what more I can do, other ways I can distract myself.

My mind briefly flickers to painting, but I reject the idea immediately. I haven't touched a brush since Bucky went into cryo, I certainly won't resurface the hobby now. I've painted the house, sure, but just to cover the walls in neutral shades, to hide my art from when we lived here before. The birds in the dining room, the twisting design in the breakfast room, the portrait of Bucky and I in the upstairs hallway-all painted over, erased from existence. The part of my life where I create beautiful things is over.

I look at my phone sitting in my lap, and know I should call Natasha back. Let her know that I finally listened to her messages, that I hear what she's saying to me. Offer to help. But I also know that any promises I would make would be false, that if I tried to help her I would just fail, let everyone down. And so I decide not to respond, although I feel awful about it.

That black screen lights up, and I groan at my ridiculous luck-Natasha's calling. I know I missed her last call, did I miss one before it? I can't miss three in a row, so better safe than sorry. I press the green button to accept the call and hold the device to my ear, openly grimacing as no one can see me.

"Hey, Steve! Thanks for picking up."

"Yeah, yeah, of course..." Do I tell her I listened to her messages? "How's it going?" I guess I won't.

"Great, really just-fuck it, I can't keep lying to you." Her initial cheery tone gives way to exhaustion, and I feel a pit drop into my stomach. "It's shit, Steve, that's how it's going, and I need help."

"What, uh, what do you need help with?"

She lets out a dry chuckle. "Everything? Jesus, Steve, I'm in charge of everything, and I can't-I can't do it alone anymore."

"Don't you have Rhodey? And Tony, and-"

"Tony got married to Pepper, didn't you hear? They moved to some lake house, gave up on the whole superhero deal. I've got Okoye helping me, and that's it. And she's pretty damn busy running her own shit, so we can't exactly have heart to hearts about our emotional states."

I try to think of excuses, although I feel absolutely awful for abandoning her. "That's...I'm really sorry, Nat, that sounds really hard."

"Yeah, Steve, it is. I know you've been taking this really badly, and I understand that. I mean Bucky, Sam, Nat, Laura and the kids...but you don't have to do it alone. And I don't want to anymore, either. Can you please, please just come to New York? At least be around, even if you can't help out with the whole governing thing?"

"I'm...going on a road trip."

"...What?"

Nice excuse, Rogers. "Yeah, I decided to, uh, see the sights. Less traffic nowadays, so..." I intended it to come out like a joke but it falls flat. I clear my throat and continue, "I'm pretty much done fixing up the house, so I wanted something else to occupy my time. I was gonna leave tomorrow morning. But...maybe after that?"

"Okay. I guess...I'm glad you're getting out of the house, doing something. Just remember to call, stay in touch. You still have me, even if you lost everyone else."

"Yeah."

She hangs up, and I mentally facepalm. Why a road trip? Why was that my excuse? I resign myself to the idea and go upstairs to start packing. I've got places to be in the morning, whether I want to or not.


	13. The Chase

I really don't like motels.

It doesn't make sense, seeing as I've slept in far worse places over the years. We were dirt poor in the thirties, my childhood was spent inside water stained walls that seemed to grow a new crack every day. And the army wasn't exactly a five star hotel, either-I had to huddle up to stay warm all those icy nights.

And yet, I hate motels.

My hatred might stem from the idea of unwashed sheets, that I don't know who's been doing what in the bed before I came. And cockroaches gross me out, even though I saw plenty of them when I was a kid. They're just creepy, skittering little things. I don't want them anywhere near me.

Bucky thought it was so funny that I hate motels. He laughed so hard when he saw my reaction to the one we stayed at on the way to Clint's farm...

Anyways.

I don't like motels. And for this road trip, I don't have to stay in any at all. I've been sleeping in my car as I make my way across the States, the aching neck and back is worth it. I've just been driving non stop, holding my urine until I'm ready to burst, staying awake until I'm practically falling asleep, refraining from food until I feel like I'm going to die of starvation.

Logically, I know that these aren't smart choices. I know that I should take care of myself, do things that bring me joy. But nothing brings me joy anymore, and it's hard to take care of yourself when you feel like you're already dead. So I'm driving.

I've been driving about fourteen hours a day, with minimal breaks. Right now I'm looking at rolling fields, what most of the scenery has been on this trip. Although, I can't say it's been much of a trip yet-I'm only on my third day.

I've already made it to San Francisco, behind the wheel of my beat up Cadillac. I took it from Tony's garage to drive to the house in Maine, and decided it would be an acceptable ride for this adventure. I'm tooling around the city, taking in the sights. Which, after Thanos, are really fucking depressing.

Garbage litters the street, and ash blows around in the wind. It's a ghost town, the remaining citizens of the city mostly choosing to stay indoors. There, at least, they can pretend that things are some semblance of normal.

I pass by a little girl, no more than eight, kicking a ball around. She runs across several lawns, but no one comes out to reprimand her. Does no one care that she's on their property? Are the residents of these houses dead? Or does she have no one left to teach her manners? In this world, it's hard to know. She waves frantically as I continue on my drive.

I slowed down when I saw the girl, but I realize that without any other people on the roads, I can go as fast as I want. A dark feeling overwhelms me, and I slowly press down harder on the gas pedal. I watch the speedometer climb as I go faster and faster, making wild turns to stay on the road. This would be exhilarating for some, terrifying for others, but I just feel numb. I go faster.

I've never been on these roads before, so I probably should be more careful. Or hell, maybe I shouldn't. If I wreck my car, I can just grab a new one from the streets. If I get hurt in a crash, I'll just heal. There's no consequences, no anything in this strange and empty world, so I go as fast as I want and silently hope that I run into something.

I almost get my wish, narrowly avoiding hitting a median. I don't slow, just moving onto a different street. This carries on for far too long, my one man car chase, until I see a woman about to cross the road. She must be deaf, because she doesn't appear to hear the sound of my engine roaring towards her. I slam on the brakes and swerve, avoiding hitting her but ramming into a wall instead. I groan as my head hits the airbag, and feel at least one rib crack.

I wait for someone to call the police to bring an ambulance. I realize that isn't going to happen. The deaf lady might come over and try to get me out of this smoking mess of machinery, but I don't want her to get hurt in the process. I undo my seat belt and push at the door, try to force it open. When that doesn't work, my eye snags on the cracked windshield. I close my eyes and throw a fist at it, the spider-webbed glass finally giving way. I take off the jacket I'm wearing and wrap it around my now bleeding fist (probably should've put something on my hand before I punched the windshield) and brush aside glass fragments, clearing my way out of the destroyed vehicle.

I hoist myself out and stumble to the ground, take a look at what I've done. There's no one around, I appear to have crashed in some sort of industrial area. What was that lady doing here, anyways?

I'm outside a big white building, with a door fairly close to where I crashed the car. I hear sound from inside, and decide to check it out. I hate to admit it, but I am a little lonely. Human interaction, any interaction, would be welcome.

Inside is a utilitarian space, full of cages. No, not cages-containers. It seems like people are stashing stuff here, stuff that belonged to friends or family that were snapped away. An old man is leading a somber looking man with an armful of trinkets to a locker, unlocking it and letting him add to the small pile inside. They look up and see me standing here, and the old man comes over.

"Hello, sir, can I help you?"

"Uh..." Jesus, Steve, what are you doing here? "I was hoping I could look around, I guess?" I am curious, drawn to these relics of another time. It's interesting to see what people deem worthy of being held under lock and key, what they think deserves that kind of protection.

The old man smiles at me. "Well, go ahead. We've got quite a bit of stuff here, lots of people storing their belongings away, so there's plenty to see. Have a nice afternoon, Ben." He says this last part while waving to the man he had helped, and goes to a small office near the entrance of the building. I step further inside.

There's lots to see here, although not all of it is interesting. There's plenty of books, cars too. An ugly brown van catches my eye from afar. There's some kind of light coming from that unit, dim but bright enough for my enhanced eyes to spot. I make my way over, and see a shocking amount of technology attached to the van. Why...?

I want to get a closer look, but the lock is in my way. I go and grab the old man, making up some story about Uncle Ed's van. The man doesn't question me at all, and cheerily unlocks the unit for me. I thank him profusely, and wait until he's gone to examine the tech.

There's a keypad of some sort...I squint as I try to decipher how to work whatever this is, and press a few buttons to experiment. A whoosh startles me, and I'm knocked back as something flies out of the back of the van.

A figure shakily stands, wearing a suit that's familiar for some reason.

Wait a minute...

"Scott?"


	14. The Fool

Scott groans and rubs his head, but I'm still in shock at the sight of the man we assumed was dead. "Scott, what the hell? How are you alive?"

"What-where's Hope? Where am-" Scott takes a closer look at his surroundings and starts panicking, looking to me and the bars of the storage unit in a manic terror. Although I'm not too good at comforting people these days, I grab his shoulders and try to calm him down, tell him to breathe along with me. Eventually, he's calm enough to interrogate.

"What's this machine?"

"Um..." Scott still looks a little rough around the edges, but he shakes his head quickly to clear it and looks at me. "It's a-portal to the Quantum Realm. Hank was supposed to pull me out, but then they stopped responding on the radio and I couldn't-I was stuck in there-"

I grab him again, and shake him. This seems to be an effective way to keep him from having another panic attack. "Why were you going into this...Quantum Realm?"

"It's complicated. There was this girl, she needed some stuff so that she wouldn't-so her molecules-I dunno, man, some scientists told me to get some shit from the Quantum Realm and then I did. Why didn't they pull me out? Where are we? Why are you here? Why are you so dirty? What-"

I clear my throat, cutting off his rambling. Dang, being respected by the general public really has its perks. "There was a war, between everyone who could fight and a thing named Thanos. He...we lost. He wiped out half of all life in the universe. I'm guessing the people who were supposed to pull you out of that thing were dusted."

"Wait...so they're...dead?" Scott looks horrified, and he presses a hand to his stomach. He looks lost in his own shock, before looking to me with terror. "Cassie, I have to-I need to know that she's-oh, God, I-"

"Does this Cassie live in San Francisco?" Scott nods, and I help him to his feet. "Alright, we can go find her. I just need to find another car, I crashed mine."

"I mean, there's this one here..." Scott gestures to the van. It's so fucking ugly, but I realize that we probably need to keep all of that technology close. I push the thing out of the storage unit, and Scott helps me roll it outside. The old man smiles when he sees me, but that smile fades when he sees the man beside me. 

"Uh, Cap, I don't remember that guy coming in with you."

"Don't worry about it..." I squint at his name tag and offer a reassuring smile. "Stan. We're just heading out." The man looks like he wants to question me, but just keeps reading his book. We make it outside without any more obstacles.

I drive, not trusting Scott's shaking hands on the wheel. I go at safe speeds, with a passenger in the car, and listen to his quiet directions to our destination. I watch his wide eyes examine this new world, and the sober silence inside the van is only broken up by his occasional words.

Finally, we reach a well-loved looking house with a big lawn. Scott practically sprints to the door, and knocks several times. I go up to join him as he waits for someone to come to the door, and after a few moments we see a tall figure approach the door. A man with gray hair stares at Scott, who looks like he's about to shit his pants with anxiety.

"Paxton, is Cassie here? Is she..."

The man, Paxton, just stares some more before emitting a choking sound. "Uh...yeah..." He turns hesitantly before calling out, "Cass, there's...come here!"

A thudding sound slowly approaches the door, and Scott holds his breath until an adorable young girl looks up at him in shock and wonder. "Dad? Dad!" She bounds forward and hugs him tightly around the waist.

I see tears of relief escape Scott as he holds his daughter close, shutting his eyes tight to shut out the demons lurking beyond this simple embrace. After a moment he pulls away, and looks at her in confusion.

"Cassie, baby, you're...you're so big."

Oh, shit, I forgot to tell him how long it's been. "Yeah, it's been five months since the Snap. Probably should've let you know, sorry."

"It's okay, um..." He wipes away a few more welling tears, and his voice cracks as he keeps talking. "So I guess I missed your birthday then, jelly bean. Did Mommy and Paxton-?" He stops talking when Cassie's face falls, and she wrings her hands a little. "Oh, honey, I-I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry..." Scott holds his daughter while she cries, in the arms of a father she never thought she'd see again. I try to hide the tears I feel brewing at the sight of their bittersweet reunion.

A question arises hours later, while we sit in the dining room of the house eating sandwiches. "Scott, didn't you know it had been five months? I mean, I'm sure it felt like even longer stuck by yourself in the Quantum Realm."

"That's the thing," he says, looking apprehensively thoughtful as he holds his daughter on his lap, "It felt...it felt like five hours. And I've been thinking...time is different in the Quantum Realm. I definitely didn't feel like I was in there for five months, but I was. So if time is different-and I know this sounds crazy, but-but what if we could somehow go backwards? You know? Find a way through that leads to...the past?"

I stare at him for a moment, thinking it over. "I don't know enough about anything to confirm or deny your theory, but I know people who do. Scott, this is-this is big. We need to get back to New York, bring the van, see if we can make that work."

"Daddy, you're going to bring Mommy and Hope and Jane and Cora and Julian back?" Cassie looks at him with glee and hope, and he gives her an apologetic kiss on the forehead.

"Maybe, jelly bean. But it's a big maybe, so don't get your hopes up. I'm definitely going to try, though." He looks at me, and I see the veneration and trust held in his gaze. I'm not the man Scott Lang remembers, I'm not the poster boy soldier who can solve any problem with a stern word and a shield. But I'll be damned if I don't try to bring that man back. If I don't try to bring everyone we lost back.

We leave in the morning, after sleeping in Scott's house. Cassie runs alongside the car as we drive away, and Scott cries again as he waves goodbye to her. I just drive, keep my eyes on the road, and hope. Maybe I'm a fool for doing so. Then again, maybe I'll need to be a fool to survive this world. So I let myself hope as we start the trek to answers.


	15. The Unseen

"Hey, Nat. I know it's been a while, sorry. It's kind of ironic that I'm the one leaving you a voicemail for once...I hope you're busy doing something that makes you happy. I'm making my way back to New York with some big news, maybe even a chance. Don't get your hopes up, though, I don't want to disappoint you if this ends up being a dead end. See you soon."

I hang up the phone after leaving her the message, and toss the device onto my bed. Motel bed, unfortunately. Scott and I found one with two twins to stay in tonight, and although I'd rather sleep in the van it's nice to have company. I guess I can deal with the bed.

I hear the door being unlocked, and Lang makes his way inside with a tight smile. "Did she pick up?"

"No," I say, sitting down on a chair in the corner of the room, "But I left her a message. Hopefully she's not out of town or something."

It turns out she's not, as I my phone starts ringing just moments later. We have a short conversation, full of empty words and gentle teases. I hang up yet again, and prepare myself for an uncomfortable night's rest.

A few more days pass like this, driving silently in the day and sleeping restlessly in the night. I can't help but smile at the sight of the Compound once we reach it, although the simple expression of joy is swiftly replaced by my resting scowl. We exit the van, and start walking up towards the doors of the building.

"Steve!" I hear Natasha call out, and she races towards me. I'm trapped in a hug, one I refuse to admit is a wonderful comfort. My head rests on top of her blonde hair, red roots coming in, until she pulls away. "What's your news?"

I step aside, revealing Scott Lang standing behind me. Nat's eyes widen, before she reins her emotion in and crosses her arms. Scott waves awkwardly, and says, "Uh, hi. So, I'm not dead, as you can see, and I might have a way to get other people to be not dead too. Maybe."

Natasha looks to me for confirmation, and I give her a shrug in response. "All right," she says, "Let's hear it, then."

After we explain the situation to Natasha, I see a glimmer of concealed hope in her eyes. "I don't know enough to say if this will work or not, but I know people who do." She gives another look to the machine in the back of the van before striding purposefully to the garage. "One of you drive that thing into here, I'll start up the car."

Once the van is safely stowed in the Compound's garage, we pile into one of the cars Tony stashed in this building. I don't ask where we're headed, knowing full well who Natasha wants to ask for help. I see Scott looking confused in the rear view mirror, but he says nothing to gain clarification. I let out a shaky exhale as we pull up to a large home on the shores of a lake, surrounded by expansive woods.

I see a familiar head of jet black hair look curiously at us as we approach, and Tony gives a small smile as we exit the car and walk towards him. "Good to see your faces. Thanks for calling ahead, Nat, wouldn't want FRIDAY to have a fit when she saw your car coming." He offers her a hug, which she gladly accepts. I don't hug him, but give a terse wave instead.

"So, Stark, can you do it? Can you use the Quantum Realm to go back in time?" Scott asks bluntly, initiating a sigh from Tony.

"Straight to the point, huh? Back from the dead for what, two days, and you already-"

"Tony," I interject, "All due respect, but we don't really want to wait any longer for answers. Can you do it or not?"

He seems slightly guilty, which is an odd look on Tony Stark. The shame is replaced by a blustering mask quickly, however, and he crosses his arms defiantly. "It's not a matter of if I can do it, it's if I will. I can't...risk what I've made here, I can't put that on the line for a fool's chance."

"But there is a chance?"

"Yeah, Steve, there's a chance. One I'm not taking."

"Why-?"

"Because Pepper's pregnant." Tony looks in surprise at Natasha, who's finally spoken up. "Right? Or is it something else?"

He rolls his eyes and gives a bitter smile. "Jesus, I forgot how hard it is to keep a secret around professional spies. Yeah, she's pregnant. 20 weeks on Tuesday. And I'm not risking my baby girl, the one good fucking thing I've made in my life, for some whisper of a chance to get everyone back."

"Tony, you can't possibly be that self-" Rage overcomes me, but Natasha cuts me off before I can say more.

"Okay, Tony. That makes sense. Thank you for at least considering."

He runs a hand over his face and looks to the sky. "Yeah. Sorry to burst your Back to the Future bullshit bubble. If you don't talk shop, you can stay for lunch."

We don't end up staying for lunch, deciding instead to find a brain bigger than Tony's. I know Nat and Bruce had a little thing back when Ultron was dropping cities, although I can't imagine the two of them together. I thought they would rekindle that when he came back, but whatever he went through must've made that romance fizzle. Wait, what did he go through, again? I've been out of the loop for too long.

We meet him at a pasta place, where he's waiting at the only occupied table in an otherwise deserted restaurant. The Snap didn't do much for small businesses, and the one employee here seems overjoyed to have four customers. Bruce stands to give Natasha a hug, and we sit ourselves down in front of bowls of pasta swiftly brought out.

"You're staying in New Asgard, right?"

Bruce smiles at Natasha's question and takes a bite of his (very large) meal. "Yeah, I felt like after everything Thor did for me, the least I could do was help his people move in. Besides, my Valkyrie friend has been very helpful in Hulk and I's 'couples therapy'." He snorts and eats more. I notice that some of the veins in his neck seem almost green, though he doesn't look angry in the slightest.

"That's great. Is Thor still..." Natasha trails off when she sees Bruce give a sad smile, and changes the subject. "So, the Quantum Realm."

"Right!" He shoves another bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing quickly before continuing. "I'd have to take a closer look at that van, but I'm pretty sure that with a little work, I can get a time machine of sorts up and running. The only problem would be our dwindling supply of Pym particles, but as long as we use the remaining ones thoughtfully that should be fine."

I don't want to hope after all I've seen, knowing that even the most tightly wound plans have a habit of unraveling. But, if this works...

God, I hope this works.


	16. The Shell

So the test didn't go well.

I have to go outside, clear my head, after watching Scott swiftly transform from a man to a teenager to an elder to a baby back to a man. The adrenaline of the moment helped keep the sadness at bay, but it's coming back full force at the realization that this might be the end of the line.

As I'm standing there, looking out at an empty parking lot, I see a black car come swerving towards me. I frown as it approaches, drives past me, and then backs up. I sigh as Tony rolls down his window. "He turned into a baby, didn't he."

Stark says some pretentious bullshit I tune out, but then I realize he's given me a device. A Quantum Realm compass of sorts. And...a shield. "I made it for you. Figured I should get it out of the garage, Morgan would probably take it sledding two days out of the womb."

"Morgan?"

"Yeah, that's what we're naming her. Once she's born. And Steve, I want to be alive when she's born. So if I see this plan heading south, I'm backing out. I'm getting out of this alive, Rogers, I'm not going to abandon my kid."

He looks down, and I can hear the unspoken words, not again. I remember a young boy in a red suit, profusely talking as we fought in a German airport. A young boy I know Stark felt responsible for. "What happened to the kid wasn't your fault, Tony. You had no control over what happened."

"Yeah, well, now I do. So don't make me become my father, don't make me become distant from my child and definitely don't make me become dead. Got it?" He says the words nonchalantly, but I hear the desperation straining behind them. Tony Stark has found joy and fulfillment after all these years in a new and powerful love, and he doesn't want to give it up. Sounds familiar.

"Got it."

We walk back inside, and Tony grins at the sight of his old friend. "Brucie, good to see you! Gotta say, pal, you're looking great, if not a little green around the gills..."

I tune their conversation out and go over to Natasha, who's looking to me for answers. "Steve, what-"

"We gotta get the team together, Nat. Tony decided to help us, after all." She gives a grin.

Natasha heads off to grab Clint. Remembering him reminds me of his dead family-Laura, Lila, Cooper, little Nathaniel...

I try to stop thinking as tears brim. Jesus, I've shed enough tears.

Bruce is going to New Asgard with the raccoon to pick up Thor. I guess he's been having a rough time, but honestly, who isn't. At least he has Bruce to watch over him. 

Everyone leaves to pick up their friends, leaving me alone in the Compound with Tony, Scott, Nebula, and Rhodey. With Nebula brooding in the corner, the Iron Men chatting it up, and Scott eating a taco, I decide that it's acceptable for me to head out.

I walk slowly down empty hallways, go back to the room I stayed in right after the Snap. I'm surprised to see that it's still as messy as I left it, covered in broken glass, blood, and rotting food. Somehow, this makes me happy. A project, something to keep my mind off of things. I like those.

I clean up the food first, unable to tell what it was before it became this stinking mess. Then the glass, swept up and thrown away. I scrub at the dried blood on the floor, but I can't get it out of the carpet. There's a lot more blood here than I thought, how many bottles did I smash? And then step on? Or was it plates that I destroyed? I can't remember but it doesn't matter. Thinking about this is making me even more depressed.

I don't like how it smells in here, the residue of the mess I've cleaned still lingers. Right, I can fix that, I grab some Febreeze and douse the place. Better. No, not better, because this air freshener smells like the daisies Bucky's mom used to grow back in the forties. He used to water them while I sat nearby, just chatting about nothing and everything...

It feels like somebody's stabbed me in the heart, and I crumple to the ground in a sobbing mess. It's just hit me, this pain, this burning sadness brought on by his death. Even though it was five months ago. Almost six months, now. Jesus, six months without him. Six fucking months.

Sometimes I feel...fine, which is almost shocking. No, not almost, it's just shocking. How could I possibly be okay when my everything is DEAD? How could I laugh, how could I smile, how could I breathe? I'm having trouble doing that now, as the sobs rocking my body are veering towards hysterical.

I try to calm down, just so I don't pass out. "C'mon, Stevie, you're okay. Just breathe, baby, I got you. Just breathe..." With the ghost of his words comforting me, his invisible arms holding me close, I'm able to slow the stream of tears pouring out of me.

But he's not there, is he? This is just another pathetic attempt to feel okay, to pretend that I'm not missing a part of me. I cry again when I realize that he's gone, that he's not here, that I don't have him, that he's dead.

How do people do this? How do they pick themselves up after losing everything? God, it was hard enough after he fell off that fucking train, it was like I was the one who had plummeted into a snowy abyss. I drank all day, tried to intoxicate and dull the pain, but I couldn't. And it took me forever to feel okay, but eventually I did.

But now? Now I've lost more than a friend. Now I've lost a lover, the one person I can trust, confide in. Wait, that's not true, I've have Sam. Had Sam. But Sam's dead too, my best friend, my wingman. The guy who kept my secrets, who stood by my side even when I had to walk through fire. Because God forbid I lose anything less than everything.

And Bucky...

God, Bucky. I need him, I need him to be here, to say words aloud and place tangible arms around me. But he can't, and if this doesn't work he will never be able to.

This needs to work. My mind flickers to that jump, that terrifying act of desperation that I swore not to do again. But if this doesn't work...

I'm more than the love we shared. But am I? Thanos took more than my lover, my friends. He took me, too. And I don't know if I can keep going on as a shell if I don't get my baby back.


	17. The Promise

I put on the unfamiliar red and white suit, look at myself in the mirror. Today's the day.

I've tried reconnecting with some of the Avengers, seeing as we haven't made contact since-well. And it's been...difficult. We're only together because there's a chance to bring back our people, and grief has shaped us all in unanticipated and horrifying ways.

I remember that battlefield in Wakanda, seeing Thor for the first time since he disappeared. The friendly banter, the light joy coating our words shouted above the sounds of violence. And now, this big blonde ball of joy and decorum has turned into a scruffy alcoholic who couldn't stay sober even if he wanted to.

Clint...God, Clint. He's done so much for me and-but now he's just this mess, this shell. Angry, stuck in this rage and fear and despair. Lost in anguish, too far into grief for even Natasha to find him. But he's rallying for this.

I remember the battle of New York, when we were a team. Allies. And then after, as we grew to be, well, a family. But my family has been destroyed now, reduced to desperate hope and silent pleas and stifled cries in the dead of night. Seeing all of us together again, it makes me realize just how much Thanos has taken. I thought that losing Bucky was the worst thing that could ever happen, but losing everything else on top of that...

I'm praying to a God I barely believe in that this works.

"You gonna be up to giving a 'Captain America Speech'?" I jump at Natasha's words, having been lost in thought. She gives me a soft smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Uh, maybe," I reply. She nods and turns, hair flying up at the movement. I frown and catch her shoulder, pull her into my room and onto a chair. "Hold on, I'm not letting you go into battle with your hair down."

I run my hands through the strands of blonde that are turning back to red, and start braiding. Natasha gives me a real smile at this, one that practically bursts out of her in a slow explosion of contentment. "God, Steve, when's the last time we just hung out? I feel like it's been forever."

"Yeah, I guess it's just been one shit storm after another."

"I guess." She closes her eyes and sighs, the smile fading as melancholy thoughts pull it away from her face. "I really hope this works, Steve, but if it doesn't-"

"Don't jinx it, Nat, we're gonna be fine. It's gonna be fine."

I see her eyes open and pierce mine in the mirror. "But if it isn't, Steve, I want you to know that I'll still be here for you. Always. You...you've been a friend to me when a lot of other people would push me away. You never cared about my past, and I'm truly grateful for that. I love you, Rogers, and if I don't make it out-"

"C'mon, Romanoff, we're not doing last words-"

"and if I don't make it out of this alive, I need you to do your best to still live your life. Even if this fails, I need you to live for me. Even if I'm not around to check in and assume you're dead if you miss three calls in a row."

I stop braiding and set my hands down on her shoulders, still looking at her in the mirror we're both facing. "Natasha, please don't talk like this. This mission is high stakes, but not high danger. You are the strongest woman I know, and you can survive anything. Even Vormir, or whatever that planet you're going to is.

"Yeah, it's Vormir." She sighs and breaks eye contact, looking at her hands. "I just...I have a bad feeling about this, Steve. I want to believe that it'll work, that we'll get them back, but if we don't, I need you to know how much I care about you. How much I love you, how much I want you to be happy. A lot of things have changed recently, but that never will."

I wrap my arms around her and hug her from behind, the position slightly uncomfortable because she's sitting and I'm tall. Eventually we pull away, and I blink away a few tears. Jesus, when did I let my relationship will Nat fall by the wayside. "I love you too, Natasha. And this isn't goodbye, okay? I'm gonna finish braiding your hair, and then we're gonna go to the time machine that we're not calling a time machine, and then we're gonna live our lives. With everyone."

She smiles at me as I tie back her braid, admiring my handiwork. Becca Barnes taught me a thing or two about doing a girl's hair, and it's showing today. "I sure hope that's the case. But promise me you'll be okay if it isn't? A real promise, Rogers, no 'I'll do my best' or some shit like that."

"I don't want to make a promise I can't keep."

"Keep it, then."

Her gaze is unrelenting, her sweet smile transformed into the face of an assassin. I immediately realize why Natasha Romanoff is so good at what she does. "I...okay. If this goes sideways, I will do my-I will be okay. I'll be okay, Nat. And so will you. So will everyone, because this is gonna work."

She offers a bitter smile as she stands, turning to face me. "If you say so. We should get down there before Tony throws a tantrum, yeah?"

We walk hand in hand down the stairs, though there's no romance attached to the gesture. I missed my friend, I missed her a lot, and I finally realized just how much. So I'll hold her hand before everything changes, for better or for worse. I'll laugh gently and try not to feel guilty about it. Because Buck would want me to be happy, right? He would want me to be okay.

And soon? Soon I'm gonna get to hear him tell me that. I'm gonna get to see that face, kiss those lips, hear that voice. I'm gonna introduce him to my friends, settle down with him. I'm gonna be okay.

Unless...

But I've got a promise to keep. Damn you, Natasha, you've trapped me in a promise I have to keep no matter what. I can't imagine a whole life without him, but if I have to live one...I'll be okay. I don't break my promises, after all.

I hold her hand. I hold onto my hope, and I hold onto my promise. I'm scared and I'm excited, but I'm okay. And that's okay.


	18. The Elevator

"Six months ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends. We lost family. We lost a part of ourselves. But today we have a chance to take it all back. You have your teams and you have assignments. Get your stone, and get back here. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs.

"Most of us are going to places we know. That doesn't mean we know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. Improvise, if you have to. This is the fight of our lives, and we're going to win.

"Whatever it takes."

I look around at my teammates, silenced by my words. "I guess you were up to the Captain America Speech, after all," Natasha says with a smirk.

"He's pretty good at that," the raccoon says, ignoring the Black Widow's comment.

Tony calls out to Bruce, "All right, you heard the man. Stroke those keys, Metapod."

The scientist taps out commands with a pencil. "Tracking beacons engaged."

Clint and the raccoon exchange a few words, but my eyes are caught on my teammates. My teammates, who I'm begging the Lord to bring back in one piece. "See you in a minute," Natasha says, her lips curling into that beautiful smile that seems to light up a room.

"Actually, it'll be closer to seven or eight microseconds, give or-" Bruce's words are cut off by the machine pulling us into the Quantum Realm.

The feeling is indescribable, a sensation similar to both my experience jumping through space on the raccoon's ship and the raw confusion my body experienced right after receiving the serum. The bounds of this miniature universe are constantly fluctuating, pulling at my being and making my heart race with flashes of light. Tony's navigational device knows the way, though. Soon I'm back to New York, circa 2012.

Bruce has the hardest job, convincing Dr. Strange to give him the Time Stone while Hulk is out there smashing aliens. Tony and I wish him luck before moving with Scott to the Avengers Tower. Or, Stark Tower, as it is right now.

"Cap, I've gotta say, that suit did nothing for your ass." I can hear the snark dripping from Tony's voice over the comm in my ear.

I sigh deeply, and respond, "No one asked you to look, Tony." I wait until Sitwell and Rumlow-gah, fucking Rumlow, I'd love to skin that bitch for what he did to my baby-enter the elevator with the mind stone. 

I join the Nazi traitors in the confined space and feel their eyes bore holes into the back of my head. "Captain, I thought you were coordinating search and rescue?" Sitwell says cautiously.

"Change of plans."

I look over at Rumlow, who's holding the scepter. It's hard to contain my fury, but I try. "Cap," he says as a greeting.

"Rumlow." The doors close, and a tense silence fills the space. I wait a moment before continuing, "I got a call from the Secretary's office. I'm going to be running point on the scepter."

"Sir, I don't understand-"

"We're heard word there might be an attempt to steal it." My words are unapologetic, and they strike a chord in the HYDRA agents in the elevator. I reach for the scepter, but Rumlow holds it back like a little bitch.

"Afraid we can't allow that, Cap." Oh, motherfucker, don't you tell me what I can and can't do when you're hiding my Bucky away in a cold cage-

Sitwell pulls out his phone, and anxiety courses through me. "I'll have to check with the Director-"

"That won't be necessary." I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but whatever. Small price to pay for the salvation of the universe and my reunion with Him. "Hail HYDRA."

I can see their brains reboot as I take the specter with no more opposition. I exit the elevator feeling like I could convince Hitler to have sex with me if I really wanted to.

I head to the alley where Tony and Scott are, feeling like a million bucks. And then, all that joy fades away. "How could you lose it?" I ask, outraged after their sheepish explanation of their failure.

"What do you want, Cap, I-"

"How the fuck did you lose it, Anthony?" I roar, anger suddenly coming over me in a wash. Tony shushes me quickly.

"Hey, covert mission, remember? Maybe don't start screaming profanities at me, Howard! Wait a minute-Howard!"

"Huh?" I was going to deliver a snarky comeback, at a lower volume, but Tony now wears a look of supreme pride.

Scott looks between the two of us, scared and confused. "Wait, who? What? Who's Howard? Like Howard Stark? Isn't that your dad, why..." I look at Tony as Scott keeps babbling, and his idea dawns on me too. Shit, Stark, it's hard to hate you when you're so damn smart.

"You grab some extra Pym Particles for the ride home, I'll nab the Tesseract?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Scott is still rambling, so Tony cuts him off. "Hey, pipsqueak, be a dear and bring back the scepter? Grandpa and I gotta go on a little trip."

"A little-there's only enough Particles for one round trip each! How-"

I put on my best Captain America face and voice as I say, "Bring back the scepter, Lang. We will be fine."

His concern fights his respect for me, but the adoration wins. Tony and I reset the dates on our devices as Scott zooms back to the future. I see Tony's lined face crinkle into a smirk as he looks at me, years of tension and resentment having settled into this exhausted and battle weary relationship we now have. "Well, Capsicle, ready to see the seventies? I know you technically have before, but this time you'll be awake for it..."

"Ha. I don't think we'll be doing much sightseeing, honestly."

"Hey, why not? Might as well enjoy the ride."

I smile a little, but my nerves are killing me. The smile fades, and grim determination replaces it in an instant. "Tony, are you sure about this? If it fails, if we can't get what we need-"

"Do you trust me?"

I ponder that for a moment. I remember screaming fights, broken glass, harsh words. I remember generosity, nonchalant kindness, the family I've somehow found in this ragtag group of misfits. "I do."

We both click our cuffs, and I'm taken by the Quantum Realm once again.


	19. The High

A lot of things happened in 1970. Beatles broke up. Jimi Hendrix died. I've spent my fair share researching all those decades I spent locked in an icy cage, but I never thought I would actually get to see them.

It was weird enough seeing myself circa 2012, fighting myself circa 2012. But now I'm in the "birthplace of Captain America", in a world where everyone believes I'm long dead. This time travel deal is trippy as fuck, as the kids would say.

"You weren't actually born here, right?" Tony asks me as we make our way through Camp Lehigh.

I chuckle dryly. "The idea of me was." I was born on a dirty mattress in Winifred Barnes' guest room. I sure am lucky my ma was best friends with a woman who knew how to deliver a baby. No hospital bills.

I lead Tony to the SHIELD base Nat and I discovered when we came here last. Jesus, this is weird. I was here when this place was born, I was here after it died, and now I'm seeing it in its glory days. Time travel, man.

I call Hank Pym's number, hoping to draw him out of his office. "This is Captain Stevens, fromshipping. We have a package foryou."

"So bring it up."

"That's the thing, sir, we can't."

"Maybe I'm confused. Isn't that your job?"

"It's just...sir, the box isglowing. And to be honest, acouple of our mail guys aren'tfeeling great..."

"They didn't open it, did they?!"

I watch Pym fly out of his office and slip in once he's gone. I grab the Pym Particles and skedaddle, but curse in my head when I see the lady from the elevator with an MP. I duck into the closest door, which is a dark and thankfully empty office. 

Peggy's empty office, as it turns out.

I see her standing there with JFK in one photo, looking proud. And I see...me. Before the serum. Jesus, Peg, you kept a picture of me on your desk? After all these years? I turn the nameplate on the desk around. Margaret Carter. 

The lights flash on in the adjacent room and I watch her come in, sharp and strong as ever. God, Peg. You were there for me when no one else was. You believed in me when no one else did. I wish you could have known he survived, I wish you could see me now. Or, then.

I know you'd be proud of me. You were always so perceptive, accepting of anything good. Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. You were wise, Peggy. So goddamn wise.

I love him, Peg. I wish I could tell you just how much. I wish I could take an hour, let it all out, let you listen. I wish I could at least say hello. But I gotta save him, Peggy, I have to get him back. I know you'd understand. I know you would.

I spare another glance before quietly leaving, double checking that I still have my precious cargo. I see Tony, holding the briefcase with the Tesseract in it.

Hold on, have we done this?

Have we won?

I guess we won't know until we get back, but...

So we put the red and white suits back on and go back. Jesus Christ, I hate the Quantum Realm.

We're back to standing on the platform, everyone exhausted. We've got one, there's two, three, four, five, six...

"Are you telling me that actually worked?" Rhodey sounds tired but excited.

"Did we get them all?"

"Holy..."

"Wait, did we...?"

I look over at Clint in a happy high, shocked by his haunted eyes. "Clint, are you okay?"

He just keeps staring ahead until Bruce looks at him with wide eyes. "Where's Nat?" Silence. My stomach drops when I notice that she isn't standing on the platform with the rest of us. "WHERE'S NAT?!"

And the high is gone.

This loss doesn't really feel real. I mean, we're planning on bringing half the goddamn universe back from the dead, how much is one life in comparison? But a part of me knows...part of me knows that she's gone.

Did she know? Going into this...it feels like she knew. All that shit she was saying to me while I braided her hair-

But I'm sure she's not-no. She's not actually...no. No. No, this is Natasha fucking Romanoff we're talking about, this is one of the bravest, most resilient people I've ever met. She can't be...no.

Bucky is, Bucky is dead. Sam is dead. Wanda is dead. I know these things, but they're temporary! They're coming back, we're going to bring them back! Natasha...no. No, Natasha can't be-can't be dead, she's not...no.

If she is...this victory feels almost Pyrrhic. We've won, but at what cost? And God, we haven't even won yet. If we do, will it be worth it? Will losing one of the brightest souls the universe has ever created be worth the reward of everyone else? In my mind, I know that no cost is too high to regain what we lost. But in my heart...

No, but she's not-we don't know that she's dead. 

I went into this endeavor knowing that we could lose everything and gain nothing. I knew that death was an option-a likely one, honestly. But, Natasha? I mean, it's not like we could EVER lose Natasha. No! Natasha is more than the harsh whims of life and death, she is beyond the simple truth of nonexistence. She's not, she can't be...

She was. She's a was, now.

I feel tears gently escape me, more soft than those torn out of me at the loss of my lover. This is a conclusion, not an interlude. We're ending the play, not the act. Natasha Romanoff is dead, and she will not return.

What a life she lived. What transformations she made, what radical change led to this heroic demise. But I wish it wasn't the end, I wish I could braid her hair again, have a 3 call rule...

The tears come harder now. Because brick by brick, I'm being paved underneath the heavy truth that she's dead, lost forever. And when I say that it's heavy, I mean that it's heavy. It's not a wall, it's a building. Hell, it's the whole damn city.

Haven't I lost enough? Haven't I given enough to earn a reward? Or is my reward always just going to be more heartache?

I wish I had Natasha to comfort me.


	20. The Glove

"Alright, the glove's ready. Question is, who's gonna snap their freaking fingers?" The raccoon-sorry, Rocket, I really need to call him by his name. It's such a stupid name, though, why-right, stay on task. Rocket is looking around at all of us, daring someone to take the gauntlet sitting in front of us.

"I'll do it," I say, stepping forward. For Bucky, right? I'll do anything to get him back.

Thor steps forward, a bit wobbly, and holds me back. "Come now, Captain, I'll do it." He reaches for the gauntlet, making Tony panic a little.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing-"

"Thor, we haven't decided who's putting that on."

The God scoffs at me after I say that. "Oh, were you all just waiting for the right opportunity?"

The raccoon, fuck, I mean Rocket, starts defending himself, "Maybe I was getting around to it-"

"We should at least discuss it-" Scott, ever the diplomat.

"Staring at the thing isn't going tobring everybody back, is it? Look,I'm the strongest Avenger. It's myresponsibility. Fate wills it so." Thor's pompous way of speaking is tainted by desperation and grief. The man has lost so much, I suppose it makes sense that he wants to do this. But I'm the one who should, for Bucky-

Tony seems very stressed as he swiftly reacts to Thor, "Hold on, hold on-"

"Stop it! Let me do this. Let me do something good. Something right-" Thor looks to Tony with fire in his eyes.

"That thing is channeling enoughenergy to light up a continent.You're in no condition-"

Thor's face is contorted in determination. "What do you think is coursingthrough my veins right now?" Vodka? Maybe some scotch?

"Cheez Whiz?" Ah, that's much better. Thanks, Rhodey. Although I don't really like the fat shaming, it's not like Thor has gained that much weight, and even if he had-

"Lightning." Oh, okay, that's where he was going with that.

"Lightning won't help you, pal. It's gotta be me." Bruce steps forward heavily, drawing everyone's eyes to the small man with graying hair. "The radiation coming off that thing is mostly gamma. It's like I was made for this."

Tony looks to his friend and sighs. "Bruce, no offense, but you're kind of a peanut. How the hell do you expect to wield that thing?"

"I'll Hulk out."

Scott looks nervously between the two geniuses. "Wait, Hulk out? Like turn into the Hulk? Isn't-"

"Banner, you've been unable to transform as of late. How will you be able to bring back the Hulk now?" Thor has stopped trying to grab the gauntlet, thankfully, and instead is giving Bruce a patronizing gaze. Bruce lets out a short and empty huff that sounds like it's meant to be a dry laugh, but is too dry to accomplish its goal.

"Well, I've got plenty to be mad about. And when the Hulk is released in a controlled environment, he's more maneuverable. You guys will just need to explicitly tell him what he needs to do, and then give him the gauntlet. He's, uh, had some time to become more aware of others, and will listen. Probably."

"Probably?" Tony lets out a laugh that's half hysterical. "Bruce, we are not staking the universe on a 'probably'. Let's just let someone else-"

"Die? Because that's exactly what would happen if anyone else took the gauntlet!" Bruce roars. I instinctively take a step back and keep watching this scene unfold. "Tony, you saw what the stones did to Thanos, they nearly killed him! I'm-Hulk is the only one of us who stands a chance of surviving this. And after Nat-" he pauses, and the tense silence that hangs in the air is deep, echoing and tangible.

"We can't afford to lose any more. I can't afford to lose any more. Please, just let me do this."

I want to speak up, contradict him, but I can't find words that might be able to sway him in his beliefs. "Bruce, maybe if I-"

"No, Steve."

All right then.

The room is silent, the sound of contemplation only interrupted by Bruce's heavy sigh. "So, do we want to do this right now, or...?"

Tony puts on a mask, a liar's cocky grin. "Sure, why not. You ready, pipsqueak?" 

Bruce responds with a clenched jaw and a firm nod. "Let's do it."

Everyone stands back and puts up their defenses as the renowned scientist closes his eyes. I see his lips move, and assume he's talking either himself or the other guy into making this transformation. The sounds coming out of his mouth start out unintelligable, but I start to hear him as he becomes more and more frustrated with his inability to Hulk out. "Come on, man, please just-I know you don't want to, but this is IMPORTANT!"

Thor beams and points to Bruce as the green tint of his veins starts spreading. Everyone tenses up even more as they prepare for the arrival of a violent guest. Bruce lets out a yell, a guttural sound, and his clothes start tearing as his body starts mutating. He becomes larger and larger, angrier and angrier, until a Hulk stands before our eyes.

"Hey, buddy!" Thor calls out, "Good to see you!"

"Puny god," the harsh and low voice responds, "Hulk smash!"

Tony's voice starts talking from behind the mask of his suit. "Whoa whoa whoa, hold those horses. We got a job for you, big guy."

"Job?"

"Yeah, yeah. See that magnificently engineered glove over there?" Tony points to the gauntlet, Hulk's eyes following. "We need you to put that on. It'll hurt like hell, but keep wearing it. Then, you're going to snap your fingers, and bring back everyone who died six months ago. Without changing anything that's happened since! Just bring them all back to today. Can you do that?"

I'm shocked by how changed the Hulk is. Whatever happened when Bruce and Thor disappeared really did a number on him. He considers Tony's words, and nods brusquely. "Hulk wear glove. Snap back Banner friends. Bring to today."

"Yeah, that's right! You ready to do that right now?"

"Hulk ready."

Tony seems to be unshaken by what he's doing, but I can see right through him. He's scared, just as scared as we all are. I see Hulk take the glove from Tony's hands and put it on one of his own, yelling as it slides onto his skin. He falls to the ground, prompting Thor to come rushing to his side. "Hulk, are you-" A snap, and everything goes white.

I regain my sight after a moment, and see Thor pulling the glove off of Hulk. The green man's arm is shriveled and black, and I wince at the painful sight. Then I realize...

He snapped.

Did we...?

Clint's phone starts to ring. Laura's face and contact name showing up on the screen.

Scott, in awe, is looking out the window at the birds. "Guys, I think it-"

Boom.


	21. The Fight

I wake up in an unrecognizable wasteland, Tony shaking me. He thrusts a shield in my hands and pulls me to my feet. "You lose this again, I'm keeping it."

"What happened?" I groan, rubbing my aching head.

"Told you. We messed with time. Time messed back."

I suddenly realize...we're alone. "Where are the others?"

"I read life signs, maybe 800 feet down, but it's hard to tell." My stomach drops as I keep up with him, our fast pace fueled by trepidation and urgency. Please, God, don't let me lose any more. I don't want to lose any more.

We reach the edge of a land mass, where Thor is simply standing. Watching? What is he-

Oh.

Thanos, sitting on a rock in the center of a large crater. "What's he doing?" Tony asks, face contorted by the revival of a man who's haunted his nightmares for years.

"Absolutely nothing," Thor responds.

We join Thor in watching for a moment, and see Thanos turn his head. Look directly at us. I see that face, the one that took everything from me. "Son of a bitch," I spit out."

Tony gives a wavering nod, barely contained fury constricting his movement. "Yeah."

"Where are the stones?" I ask, looking to Tony again.

"Somewhere under all of this. All I know is that he doesn't have 'em."

I turn back to look at the abomination masquerading as a savior. "So we keep it that way." A sense of purpose is silently spread between us, and they catch my idea.

"You know it's a trap." Thor says it as a statement, not a question. 

Tony snorts and deploys his armor. "Don't think I care."

"Just so we're all in agreement..." He throws out both arms and his heavenly weapons fly to greet his outstretched hands. In a crash of lightning, Thor is clad in his armor, looking like himself for the first time in six months. "Let's kill him properly this time."

As I tighten my shield on my arm and lead our little group down into the crater, Thanos begins to speak. "You could not live with your ownfailure. And where did that bringyou? Right back to me. I thought by eliminating half oflife, the other half would thrive.But you've shown me that'simpossible. Life clings to the past with bloodyfingernails. As long as there arethose who remember what was, therewill be those unable to accept whatcan be. They will resist."

"Yep, we're all kinds of stupid." Tony's voice sounds almost cheerful compared to the Titan's soliloquist drone.

"I'm thankful. Because now I knowwhat I must do." Thanos grabs his helmet and continues, "I will shred this universe down to its last atom. And then, with the stones you'vecollected for me, create a new one,teeming with life that knows notwhat it has lost, but only what ithas been given. A gratefuluniverse."

I narrow my eyes at the shriveled excuse for a sentient being. "Born out of blood."

"They'll never know it. Because you won't be alive to tell them."

And with that, the battle begins.

My mind is empty, fueled by nothing more than adrenaline and the now-bitter hope that I may live to see my lover again. Though such wishes are lost in this onslaught, this violent exchange that gives me life but I fear may be the death of me. 

I watch Thanos charge at Tony, knock him aside viciously like a rag doll. I race forward, but feel the wind knocked out of me as a mighty blow forces me away from my assailant. Through blurry vision, I see Thanos standing over Thor. Hitting him. Driving the axe closer and closer to my friend's body.

Something comes over me, I don't know what. But I realize in an instant that I will do anything to keep another life from being taken, I would willingly give my own a thousand times over if it meant we could finally have peace. I reach out my hand instinctively, and see it fly towards me. And when I hold that hammer in my hands, it feels like it belongs.

So I use it.

I hit him in the jaw, quick, and the purple asshole staggers back. Before he can regain himself, I let the lightning now coursing through me reach down from the heavens strike him, feel the crackling power surge into his body. I rush to finish him off, but he rolls and head butts me before I can.

That incredible feeling of invincibility is gone in an instant as the Titan attacks me with his blade over and over again. It's all I can do to keep my shield up, to ignore the stabbing pains in my body to keep more from being inflicted. The shield is hacked apart, this symbol of who I am destroyed in a final attempt to save me. I'm thrown again, and lie beaten and exhausted on the field with my broken defense still strapped onto my arm.

All I want to do is lie there for eternity. To wait for death to finally claim me as her own.

But I get up.

That's what heroes do, right? Even when they're broken, bloodied, even when everyone and everything they love has been torn away from them, they get up.

I make my way towards his army, one man against thousands, every step a declaration that this ground is mine and I will fight anyone who tries to take it from me until my last breath. But then, I hear a muffled noise come from the comm in my ear. I stop, try to make out the words that are clear when they're repeated.

"Cap. On your left."

A grin tears its way across my face as countless portals open up across the field, spilling out strangers in name but comrades in arms. These are my people. These are the ones who will fight any battle, and win it. These are the defenders of the universe, my brothers and sisters. I watch them spill out of sparkling vortexes and prepare themselves for the most important mission anyone has ever had.

These are the Avengers.

I can't see him, I'm standing too far away. But the knowledge that he is here, that he is alive, is enough to rid me of any pain or exhaustion. Because my baby, my Bucky, is alive. Alive. And anyone who dares to keep him away from me any longer will meet my fist and die.

I look around, see them in all their glory. "Avengers..." I let the hammer fly towards me once more, fill me with more determination than I've ever felt as it hits my hand with a satisfying smack.

"Assemble."


	22. The End

We flood the field, race to attack this enemy that has gone too long without punishment. Though I know I need to focus on my actions, I can't keep myself from looking for him. I suppose I'm a pretty good multitasker, though.

I tear through the enemies like they're wet paper in a garbage disposal, give everything I have to the pursuit of their mass destruction. I am not a violent man. I do not relish in inflicting pain. But the sight of these things dying? Pure satisfaction.

I come across Thor, and fight with him for a spell. In a brief lapse of the battle, Thor frowns at the sight of Stormbreaker in my hands. "No, you take the little one." I switch without complaint and carry on.

"What do you want me to do with this thing?" I hear Clint yell over the comm in my ear.

I immediately recognize the subject of his question, and quickly respond, "Get those stones as far away as possible!"

"No! Bruce said we need to get them back to where they came from." Tony grunts, and I hear the sound of his repulsors blasting near where I stand. "But...there's no way to send them back. Thanos destroyed our time machine."

Scott pipes up, "Hold on! That wasn't our only time machine." I frown until I hear La Cucaracha ring out across the battlefield. Ah, son of a bitch.

"Does anyone have eyes on an ugly, brown van?"

"Yeah, but you're not going to like where it's parked." I spot the van just as the unfamiliar female voice pipes up in my ear.

"Scott, how long do you need to get that thing working?"

"Uh, maybe ten minutes?"

"Get it started. We'll bring the stones to you." I hear another voice respond to my words. I throw myself back into the fray and pray to God my friends can live up to their words. It's easy to fight on the ground, but the endgame of this battle, the need to keep the stones safe and unused, is ever so present in my mind.

Suddenly, I look up as cannons start releasing their destructive cargo in a confusing and maddening show of Thanos' brutal force. Is he going to wipe out his entire army just to destroy us? More importantly, is he going to succeed?

I look over to see Tony's kid drowning in a pile of enemies. "Hey, Queens! Heads up!" I toss Mjolnir at him and see him web on, be pulled out of the way. Wait, does that make him worthy? Stay focused, Steve, we don't have time for your questions.

Was that Bucky? I look-nope, just another space pirate. Disappointment floods my veins.

This fight becomes desperate, but not all hope is lost. I look to the skies and see what looks like a comet darting towards Thanos' ships. But I know that isn't a comet. I grin, and watch her annihilate the warcraft, tear through them like it's nothing.

"Danvers, we're gonna need an assist down here!" I yell out.

"Roger...Rogers."

Well, saw that one coming. Morita used to say it all the time-shit, fuck, that guy has a weird glowing sword.

I see a group of women make their way with the gauntlet towards the now functional Quantum Tunnel. I make my way over, fighting everyone in my path. Carol Danvers, cradling the stones in her arms, is almost there. I laugh deliriously, thrilled that she's just yards away from saving everything.

And then Thanos throws a spear at the van and it explodes.

Scott and Carol are sent flying, along with everyone else near. My eyes are snagged by the gauntlet, now lying unprotected on the dirt.

And Thanos sees it, too.

Everyone scrambles towards the stones, desperate to save the universe. Thor is the first to reach them, but Thanos kicks him aside and takes the twisted and tarnished metal for himself. Tony, rushing towards the Titan, is knocked aside as well. As I run as fast as I can towards the Titan, I see him bend the metal glove, open it wide enough for his hand to fit in.

Before he can, though, I lunge and try to knock the godforsaken thing out of his hands. The hand he's not using to hold the glove is wrapped around my neck, and I gasp as my airflow is briefly cut off before I'm thrown to the side.

I'm choking, and my blurry eyesight catches a man in a red cape holding up one finger with a haunted sadness coating his movement. This means nothing to me. Until that finger is moved to face me.

Let's be honest, it still means nothing to me. I gasp and try to regain myself as I notice Tony come up to me. He looks afraid. Which makes sense, he should be.

Carol and other warriors of good are struggling to contain Thanos, so I don't understand why Tony is moving towards me instead of them. I especially don't understand when he pulls of one of the hands of his suit, nanoparticles rearranging themselves to be able to fit my hand.

It's only when I see the six sockets being formed that I understand.

Oh, Bucky. Please forgive me, love.

I grab the second gauntlet from Tony before he can say a word. Though my heart wants me to be selfish, to stay with Bucky forever and ever, I know that there isn't even a small chance of that happening unless I do this. Thanos is now alone, having knocked aside all opponents with no great effort.

I lunge at him again and clamp the hand with the gauntlet on it onto his. Searing pain grows in my hand as the stones are transferred, and I see the Titan's triumphant face as he throws me aside for the very last time.

I barely hear the words as light and energy surge through me in an agonizing wave. "I...am...inevitable." An empty clunk.

And he turns to me. Standing there, somehow still standing though every essence of my being wants to collapse under the weight of this tremendous pain.

And my last thoughts are of Bucky.

Of that kind smile.

That beautiful face.

And I know that there is no price I wouldn't pay to see it again.

Even though this price is high enough that we will have to reunite in heaven.

I hate to hurt him like this. I know firsthand that losing him...it was far worse than the pain tearing through me now. That pain was empty and broken. This one has purpose.

I have purpose.

And so I raise my hand, which I can already feel failing me under the pressure of this magnificent power.

And I look him dead in the eyes.

"I...don't...care."

Snap.

End of Book Three


End file.
